All Hail Vail, King of the Mountains

After a brutal East Coast winter, more snow is the last thing one wants to see. Unless that snow is comprised of giant, fluffy flakes gently descending on the expansive slopes of Vail. It's pow pow time folks.

 

Vail, despite its rampant popularity, manages to hang on to the small town vibe that's slowly melting away at more salubrious resorts. That's a good thing, given they're attracting clientele like the below, who wouldn't know a Ski Valet from an Eskimo Pie.

There's a palpable energy in any ski town on the eve of an epic powder day, and when that ski town is Vail the buzz is off the charts. The enthusiasm is infectious; there's more photo bombers buzzing around than a daylight B-17 raid.

You do realize Slopestyle means more than a pair of Uggs and a Canada Goose hat? You need to add a Double McTwist 1260 to your repertoire. Unless of course you're in Aspen, in which case you need the Quadruple Carat $126,000.

Rock hasn't even got on the slope yet and they're already immortalizing his epic final run. Looks like the sculptor took a little artistic license and glossed over the snowplow stance and grimace of abject terror.

Powder and popcorn. Mei reckons that's the best combination since chow and mein.

On a snowy evening like this, Ye Olde Inn promises a roaring fire and liquid sustenance for the big day ahead. Unlike Rock's grandiose promise of starting on a double black diamond, it happily keeps its word.

Gentlemen, start your engines! In skiing parlance they call this a bluebird day. The kind of glorious spring day where the powder is fresh, the sky is blue, the runs are immaculately groomed, and it's all systems go... until you hit the lift line and realize that everyone else inconveniently noticed what a cracker of a day it is too.

To be at the peak of a powder-covered mountain is to be at the peak of existence. That's particularly true when all the runs down are blues and blacks and one's existence is about to be sorely tested.

One way or another he'll make it to the bottom. Gravity can be a bitch but at least she's consistent.

First warm up the quads with a gentle green cruiser. Then crash on the cruiser and realize that greens out West aren't quite the same as greens out East. It's parallel or perish out here folks. The snowplow is something De Blasio can't seem to keep on the streets because he's too busy using them to polish the Union's boots.

At least the orange goggles will make it easy for the rescue squad to spot you in that big snow drift down yonder. That's good, because the avalanche rescue St. Bernards have heard bad things about what your people stew in their hot pots on a cold winter day...

A vista like this is much easier to enjoy when you're not about to step off the edge of it.

The good news is you don't need a horrible crash to justify "medicinal" supplements anymore. The new all-you-can smoke pot laws out here mean any snowboarder you cruise past will be happy to fix you up.

There's skiing, and then there's floating down a powder covered runway so wide you could land a jumbo on it. There's also bumping your way down with flailing poles, crisscrossed skis, and a dubious set of brakes, but that spoils the image.

All Hail Vail, King of the Mountains!