Program Guide: On-site DJs and Big Screen entertainment enhance
the youthful alternative culture throughout the day.
First of all, I never figured much to come out of my last minute
decision 4 hour trip to Mammoth for the Emap-Peterson “Gravity
Games” except a great scenic ride past Mono Lake and its
endless expanse of surrounding desert vista. But actually I
lucked out and got sunny skies, more snow than Tahoe to cruise
around on and saw Todd Richards go “spinny fuckin’
richter” in the “Superpipe” (which had like 18
foot perfect tranny walls). I arrived at the Big Air after a
few rides with veteran Mike Chantry to find the sun setting
and about 12 granola-skier types formed in a drum circle. I
took a photo of them as they invited me to grab a stick and
join in for snow praise, which I did until getting kicked out
by Super-Security Kook. I was to move to where those with a
pass entitled “Media” was only allowed to stand. Soon,
it was the land of bright spotlights and hyper money; $10,000
for the women, $13,000 for the men. Suddenly, “...just
about 20 minutes till practice begins” blared over the
loudspeakers, which turned into 90 minutes. The lag time was
spent watching photog’s of every caliber slice each others
fingers to secure a space in the 15’ x 8’ caged area
right of the launch pad. The nearby lightbeam provided hand
heat ‘cause it was cold as fuck and photo heads were neck
to neck (Bryce Kanights and myself included, thanks by the way
for some space Bryce). Kevin Jones, Barrett Christy, Peter Line
and others eventually flew overhead in predictable scheduled
night air traffic. After I decided I was tired of freezing,
I ventured solo toward the lodge for a brief ride through a
nice eight inches of powder away from the over-bright halogens
into the darkened trees. My eyes adjusted accordingly. In the
lodge, people with ooh’s and aah’s plastered on their
faces watched a huge theater type screen affixed outside through
foggy glass as I ran into the familiar face of Shaun Palmer
(won the skiercross, hands down by a mile). Oddly enough, he
sporadically asked in his Palmerish demeanor, “Hey Carnel,
where the fuck is the bathroom in this place!?” As I pointed
randomly I saw the only other familiar face. My friend Mark
Cavallero and his girl Kelli invited me to stay with them in
their super high end condo-hotel ($500.00 a night with garaged
heated parking) compliments of Salomon (the corporate hand coming
through). I later found rad pizza at Chick ‘N’ Pizza,
pinball for a quarter and amazingly, I remembered how to navigate
a game of Asteroids; the likes of which I haven’t seen
operational or played in like 20 some-odd years. It defied gravity.
First of all, I never figured much to come out of my last minute
decision 4 hour trip to Mammoth for the Emap-Peterson “Gravity
Games” except a great scenic ride past Mono Lake and its
endless expanse of surrounding desert vista. But actually I
lucked out and got sunny skies, more snow than Tahoe to cruise
around on and saw Todd Richards go “spinny fuckin’
richter” in the “Superpipe” (which had like 18
foot perfect tranny walls). I arrived at the Big Air after a
few rides with veteran Mike Chantry to find the sun setting
and about 12 granola-skier types formed in a drum circle. I
took a photo of them as they invited me to grab a stick and
join in for snow praise, which I did until getting kicked out
by Super-Security Kook. I was to move to where those with a
pass entitled “Media” was only allowed to stand. Soon,
it was the land of bright spotlights and hyper money; $10,000
for the women, $13,000 for the men. Suddenly, “...just
about 20 minutes till practice begins” blared over the
loudspeakers, which turned into 90 minutes. The lag time was
spent watching photog’s of every caliber slice each others
fingers to secure a space in the 15’ x 8’ caged area
right of the launch pad. The nearby lightbeam provided hand
heat ‘cause it was cold as fuck and photo heads were neck
to neck (Bryce Kanights and myself included, thanks by the way
for some space Bryce). Kevin Jones, Barrett Christy, Peter Line
and others eventually flew overhead in predictable scheduled
night air traffic. After I decided I was tired of freezing,
I ventured solo toward the lodge for a brief ride through a
nice eight inches of powder away from the over-bright halogens
into the darkened trees. My eyes adjusted accordingly. In the
lodge, people with ooh’s and aah’s plastered on their
faces watched a huge theater type screen affixed outside through
foggy glass as I ran into the familiar face of Shaun Palmer
(won the skiercross, hands down by a mile). Oddly enough, he
sporadically asked in his Palmerish demeanor, “Hey Carnel,
where the fuck is the bathroom in this place!?” As I pointed
randomly I saw the only other familiar face. My friend Mark
Cavallero and his girl Kelli invited me to stay with them in
their super high end condo-hotel ($500.00 a night with garaged
heated parking) compliments of Salomon (the corporate hand coming
through). I later found rad pizza at Chick ‘N’ Pizza,
pinball for a quarter and amazingly, I remembered how to navigate
a game of Asteroids; the likes of which I haven’t seen
operational or played in like 20 some-odd years. It defied gravity.