We were prepared to put on the chains, and so when the sign showed up like a sentry on the side of the road, we dutifully pulled over and prepared to get our grips on. We were not prepared, however, for the folks trudging down the hill in a little sports sedan. They pulled over next to us to take off their chains, and imparted a story to chill our bones: the top of the mountain was the worst weather they'd ever seen...total white-outs, heavy snowfall, high winds, and wrecked cars. Then they tacked onto the end of the story that they were from Floriday, so perhaps they were exagerating just a teensy bit.
We decided not bet on their exageration, and so we turned back down the hill, with plans to perhaps rent some cross-country skis or snow-shoes and take a cool hike/trek through the lower elevation. We remembered seeing a little shop towards the base of the hill just a few miles back, and we figured they'd rent equipment there. Brant's parents had already gone ahead, so we'd get an accurate weather account from them in a few, and then decide which activity route to take on.
The Shop
The shop was packed with every snow-related thing you could imagine...and I do mean PACKED. Funky, long-tailed mushy hats hung from the ceiling like multi-colored wool stalactites. Racks of clothing occupied most of the floor space. Skis and boards lined all the walls. Rental boots stacked 10 shelves high faced off against a grand wood-burning stove, and the "Employees Only" area was separated by a tiny path to the over-sized bathroom by a length of rope. Any remaining wall space was covered by a snow-related poster of some kind, and the space above the wide-beam open rafters was the only roomy area in the entire cabin-turned-ski-shop.
The proprietor greeted us warmly, then proceeded to tell us why we should never rent telemark skis unless we really knew what we were doing, and that he didn't know but a handfull of people who actually did. We liked him immediately....honest, straight-forward, knew his business and seemed to generally have our best interest in mind, regardless of whether we wanted to hear it or not.
He had a wiry build and an amped-up personality. Fifty-seven by his account, he seemed much younger. His coarse, dark grey hair was cut short around the front and pulled back into a brief pony tail in back with a single, definitive curl running through it. He laughed a lot, and often at his own comments. When he told us he had lived in the snow country nearly all his life, we weren't surprised. When he told us he had converted one of his studios into a shop for all his Harley's, we weren't surprised. When he told us he had busted his entire pelvis in a car accident that left him in a coma some years ago, we were surprised. He called it karma, and we left the inquiries where they lay.
Jimmy in the Middle
We spent a good two hours in that little shop with Jimmy. He told us stories and taught us about equipment. He showed us some tricks and sold us some toys. We learned he was an ex-felon (though we know not for what) and that he lived in one great room with a built-in jacuzzi. We learned he was friends with Sims and that, in his opinion, there was no better board in the world than a Morrow. He wears his jeans tight and keeps his beard short.
And sometimes the first person that comes to the shop in the morning has to knock on the back door to wake him up.
