Back at the Slopes
Today was a relatively short driving day from Jackson to Park City. Kim and I got up at our normal roadtrip time of O’Dark Thirty. I did what I always do, which is write a story while staring up at the Grand Tetons. I had been instructed about how to get my own cereal, which I did, and once 8am rolled around, Kim and I decided that it might be best to let Bruce and Sandi sleep and to make a quiet and hasty retreat. So, I found some note paper and pen and wrote out a short thanks, see-ya note. I also used the note to point their attention to a metal dragonfly garden stake, which I had in the car from Ithaca. The Tullys have a small pond on their back yard and I had seen several rusted metal fish that simulatedly jump from the pond. I thought a 25-year-old rusted metal dragonfly would fit right in, so I stuck it in the soft grass around the little pond as a gift for their hospitality.
Bruce called a bit later while we were on the road and we had a good laugh about how we were the best guests ever since we were gone and out before they awoke. We then carried on to Bear Lake to meet up with Deb & Melissa, our Utah buddies. Mel was at the front end of a big family reunion weekend. We stopped to pay our respects to her family and then the four of us went to a local lunch spot for a sandwich and catch-up. Deb & Mel have been our friends for all fifteen years we have been together and before. I’ve known Deb for 30 years and Mel for probably at least 20. They know all of my family and many of my friends, so we always have lots to talk about. It seems we will next see them in NYC this October for Kim’s show at the Cabaret Convention at Lincoln Center.
After lunch we headed south towards Park City. That took us through some beautiful country in Wyoming, Idaho and Utah. We are stopping here since we haven’t been back here since we sold our house here in 2007. I was curious, having watched fifteen years of development during the years I lived here, to see how the latest fifteen years of development have changed the town.
After dropping off our bags at the Newpark Hotel out in Snyderville, we drove into town and started by driving up to Canyon Court to see the big 11,000 sf FLW-inspired house I owned for five years over the change of the millennium. I didn’t feel like bothering the owners by driving down the slate driveway, but from what I could see from the road, the house was still as lovely and well-kept as I remember it. Zillow doesn’t have a price estimate on the house but I’m sure it has appreciated nicely since I sold it. We then drove down to look at the last house we owned, which is on Thaynes Canyon Rd.. Zillow tells me it’s doubled in value which is about right for fifteen years, but it still looks as uninteresting as I thought it was back then when it was part of my two-step exit from the big house. When I sold that place in 2007 during my career crisis, it marked the end of my skiing career and my romance with Park City.
We then drove around the town, up Main Street, up to Guardsman’s Pass, through Upper and Lower Deer Valley and past the Ontario Lodge condo where it all began in 1992. My overall reaction to the changes in Park City is that it has changed far less than I imagined it might have and much less than it did during the years I lived here. I’m not sure how much more growth is in store for this old silver mining town that was a ghost town not so very long ago. The infrastructure is stretched to its capacity and further, the demographics are moving away from skiing as a sport, and I suspect that sooner or later the economic weight of all this underutilized ski house asset pool is likely to fall under its own burdensome weight.
If this strikes you as sour grapes from someone who no longer has a vested interest, you may be right. But as I drove around the town I found myself thinking that I was glad not to have to deal with the place any longer. It struck me as simply too much work. Again, maybe that’s an old man’s rationalizing, but maybe not. I know my kids still pine away for a family reunion in Deer Valley, so I guess their memories make them wish for more where my memories feel very much fulfilled.
We had ordered some soup and salad to take back to the room at the hotel. You see, tonight was the eighth herring by the Select Committee on January 6th and that has become our latest can’t miss entertainment. It was scheduled for 8pm EDT, so here in Mountain Time that’s 6pm. I had had my fill of revisiting Park City, so eating in the room suited us just fine. I assume that this has less to do with being lazy or uninspired and more to do with my lifelong rolling stone lifestyle wherein I try to gather no moss and spend minimal time looking back. This trip has surely been a test of that with Ithaca, Madison and now, Park City. If I’d hit Maine it would have covered most of my life … at least in the U. S.
I am blessed with the tendency to like where I live and what I’m doing. The past is easy for me to dismiss, without regrets or wistfulness. I like that I lived in those places. I treasure my memories and they are mostly all good. But I really don’t care to turn the clock back on any of it. I must have some mild curiosity to see these places, but waiting fifteen years must mean that I have no obsession with it. My visit to Park City, just as was the case with Madison, was to fulfill a simple interest in seeing what has become of the place. I am certain that those who have continued to live out their lives there feel as I do and are happy in their lives for the most part.
Life is forever placing paths in front of us to consider taking. We all encounter forks in the road just like Robert Frosr told in his 1916 poem The Road Not Taken. In that he reflects that when we are faced with these life choices, we must most often recognize that we are unlikely to pass this way again as “way leads on to way”. And that is the way of life. So Frost tells us in his tale of life’s decisions that what has made all the difference to him in his life has been to take the road less traveled, to be the nonconformist. It is ok to let out a sigh and to wonder about the road not taken, but that it is then time to carry on and be content in knowing that you will find a way to know that you have taken the right path.
The field of psychology has a term for this feeling, and it is called cognitive dissonance. We all, to varying degrees, find ways to reconcile ourselves to the righteousness of the paths we have chosen. At least those of us who choose to live in comfort with ourselves do that. I have often noted that I am quite good at feeling good about my choices and truly have few regrets. This has nothing to do with an arrogance that I have made all good choices, but rather a conviction to be as happy with the choices I have made as I possibly can be. I believe this approach forces me to make more moral choices than not. since those are easier to live with going forward.
Park City played an important role in my life and gave me great pleasure. The pleasure of pursuing a passion for skiing and the pleasure of fulfilling ambitions I had ranging from owning a ranch to being a follower of Frank Lloyd Wright. When my personal Bear Stearns career shit hit the fan, I was fortunate to have Kim by my side and a comfort with leaving Park City behind without regrets. That caused me a few years later to find my silver lining on my hilltop. Strange that I found my favorite slope by leaving the slopes behind. Recognizing that may be the best part of being back at the slopes.