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Hundred Days



The Mountain Pulse Jackson Hole

Our normal is not so normal…thankfully. Someone cracks a beer in the Start bus leaving the Village. Judging from the click of the aluminum seal, it’s likely a 24 oz can, a PBR at that. Sure enough, a head cocks back and confirms my deduction. Anywhere else, someone sipping an enormous can of beer at 12:15 on a Tuesday in public would seem suspect, if not grounds to de-buss. Here in Jackson, it’s no stranger than a city slicker totting around a tall-non-fat-double-fancy-coffeeato. This is not to suggest that Jackson Hole is overrun with lushes. I just mean to say things are different here.

That truth is revealed each day on the hill. Riding up Sublet, I watched a Jackson youth, no older than nine or ten, charge down Alta I, her pony tail extended behind her like a jet stream. She navigated the exposed chute with precision and confidence. You can only wonder what this little ripper will be doing sometime down the line.


One Response to “02/08/11”

  1. Make mine a Narragansett, or a Poconaset, or a Manomet or ……….

    • David Winner
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