Is Park City still a mountain-town?

Just today, I read a rather virulent guest editorial in our local Park City newspaper. In a nutshell, the angry author was complaining about the seemingly unstoppable growth that today, may have become the new normal in Park City.

What the author of that editorial fails to realize is that growth in mountain towns is a universal challenge. From Aspen to Whistler and from Avoriaz to Zermatt in Europe, the trend is pretty much universal.

It used to be that only these mountain-town residents who could find a tourist-related local job lived there, but today, with modern technology, many more folks can live where they please, and more often than not, where quality of life has the most to offer.

The other unique aspect of Park City is that it sits smack in the middle of a sea of private land that can be developed, unlike the majority of North American mountain resorts that are for, the most part, landlocked into Federal land, with extremely limited room for expansion.

Sure, with about 27,000 people sharing a Park City address, we're no longer talking about a small town; yet, in Oregon, Bend counts upward of 90,000 people, Lake Tahoe in California and Nevada, 60,000, and the Vail Valley, around 45,000!

Also, what has hoisted Park City at the top of American mountain towns is the convenience of being located 35 minutes away from a major airport and a large metro area offering every necessary resources. In the future, we sure are likely to see even more growth for these same reason.

It's true that we're facing some big problems, like water availability and traffic, and our local government will have to work hard at mitigating these issues. We'll simply have to be more creative, disciplined and able to remain content, as these problems pale in comparison with the wonderful quality of life still available today.

I've lived more than 33 years in Park City and, while there are local aspects that I miss, there are also many more new additions that I greatly appreciate, I still find the place quite livable and most importantly, I still fully enjoy living here with no exit plan in mind.

Yes, before I forget, for the malcontents, there's always Red Lodge in Montana as the perfectly sized mountain town to seek refuge to...

Ready for skiing?

Yesterday, the snow has showed up on the upper crests of Park City and the first thing people I know ask me, is whether I'm ready or anxious for skiing.

My short answer is a resounding “No”.

Even though I'm a ski-addict, I enjoy the seasons outside of winter and all of the months that are not snow-covered.

I'll be ready when the snow come, when the depth will be decent enough to cover all the rocks and that's about it. I live in the moment.

There will be plenty of time to glide, have fun and feel the cold. For now, I can use all of the autumn weather that nature is allotting me!

Abusing “Handicap Parking” tags...

Like in most mountain resorts, finding a spot for a car is often at a premium in Park City.

This explains why so many able-bodied locals are abusing the use of automobile tags for persons with disabilities, without thinking twice about their blatant display of selfishness and disrespect towards the real handicapped motorists.

We know many of them that are living in our neighborhood, that got these special tags they've obtained from friends or relatives, and are constantly keeping conveniently hanging on their mirror.

Now, whenever these perfectly mobile individuals can park into a handicap spot, they won't hesitate one second, and, in so doing, will deny a truly disabled motorist the space they're entitled to.

Frequently, these are younger, active people with no apparent physical disability, except for their obviously degenerate and deeply sick minds.

Nobel Prize of what?

If you live in the American West and win a Nobel Prize, expect to receive a phone call smack in the middle of the night.

This is exactly what I thought happened to me last Monday night when my phone rang as I was lost into a bottomless slumber. I fumbled around my night table trying to reach for the phone, but only managed to hang it up in an awkward and zombie-like attempt to see who was calling.

Since it's the season, I thought it might be the Nobel Committee, alerting me that I had won one their prizes for, perhaps, common sense, since I haven't done much lately in physics, chemistry, literature or even peace.

I felt sorry I missed the call, but as the voice-message light began to blink, I had no choice but turn on my lamp, and check what all the fuss was about.

When I got there, I heard this: “This is an alert from the Park City Municipal Corporation. A mountain lion has been sighted at the 3000 block of Park Meadows Drive, please keep your pets indoors or supervise them when going outdoors...” Or something to that effect.

Just a pesky interruption and, as you might have guessed it, no Nobel Prize!

Garibaldi Whistler Mountain

Since I was a child, I always dreamed about America; not just the United States, but Canada as well. In the late sixties, my friend Michel Duret was passing along to me, issues of the U.S. Ski and Skiing magazines after he had read them, and as an aspiring ski instructor, I always thought that teaching skiing might the key to ushering me into North America.

From the ads and articles that I found in these publications, I wrote to a bunch of “ski school directors” at some of the resorts that impressed me the most; that was in 1968. As best as I can remember, only got two responses.

One, from Curt Chase, from Aspen, was negative, while the other was more hopeful. It came from Jim McConkey, father of the late ski-movie hero Shane McConkey, and newly appointed director of the ski school at “Garibaldi Whistler Mountain”.

Back in these days that was the name of what would become Whistler Blackcomb. Prior to 1965, it was called London Mountain but was changed to Garibaldi Whistler Mountain because of the whistling sound marmots made in the summer.

In his letter, McConkey was letting me know that there indeed was an opening for an aspiring ski instructor like me, as long as was proficient in “crud”. I thought I'd qualify, skiing crud has always been my forte. Too bad I've lost that wonderful letter!

The problem was that I still was in the midst of my military service and couldn't show any ski instructing certification. Short of deserting the French Army and without proper credentials, I had little choice, but let this ground-floor opportunity go by. I only hoped there would be another chance.

I was right.

Our insecurities...

Sunday night, on the news show “60 Minutes”, Sharyn Alfonsi was interviewing Paul McCartney and towards the end, she asked him: “What's the biggest misconception about you?” 

Sir Paul responded: “I don't know really. I don't-- I don't hear about them. I don't know what people think about me. I can-- I can try and guess. I'll-- I'll-- I'll tell you what, 'You must have no insecurities.' Just like anyone else, you have insecurities. 'Cause everyone has them. And no matter how high and great and wonderful you get, there's still something will make you worry.”

This was a telling moment in the sense that the surviving Beatle hit the nail on the head and dealt a big blow to that elusive, moving target that our sense of security often is. Haven't we all wished for the day “we would graduate”, or “have a great career” or achieve this, that or the rest, always thinking that it would unlock true-security-forever?

I haven't, I went through this exercise countless times, only to find out that there is no such thing as living insecurity-free or worry-free. Somehow, we always seem to have some sword hanging upon us, ready to fall and hit us at any moment. And what's more remarkable is that these insecurities or worries are more often than not, trivial, poorly substantiated and short-lived.

Now, how can we deal with them without driving ourselves crazy? Here is how I try to handle these threats; I begin by identifying them, seizing them, looking at them straight in the eyes and, in the process, realizing that they are not so deadly and that, like anything else, they'll too pass...

The art of remembering

A lifelong worth of memories should be impressive and should be huge in terms of the actual quantity of information it contains, but in reality, this doesn't seem to be the case.

Again, I'm talking about long-term memories, not the short-term kind that starts playing tricks on us as soon as we enter our sixties.

One thing is certain; long-term memory isn't improving with age either and seems to be decaying fast if we fail to make a constant effort to maintaining or refreshing it regularly.

Today, since I'm a visual guy, when I think of my life, from the moment I could recall anything, my memories are like a movie badly damaged in which only a few isolated, single frame remains intact and most of the time somehow legible. From them, I can connect the dots and recreate the gist of the story, but it remains largely an exercise in imprecision.

The only element that helps in that endeavor is the vast photo archives I've kept, as well as testimonies from friends and relative, have been invaluable in triggering or refreshing some of my past remembrances.

That's exactly when I regret so much not having kept a daily journal of what happened to me ever since I could write...