Apres ski utopia changes with time

By Matt Boxler

In a sport like skiing, there are romantic notions and there is reality. To the outsider looking in, romantic notions of après-ski include images of crackling fires, bubbling champagne and swirling Jacuzzis. To the skiing insider, an ideal après-ski evening may involve nothing more than changing into a dry pair of socks.

That’s what is so wonderful about the sport. There is no singular definition for après-ski; it changes from day to day and from decade to decade. It’s all about one’s perspective.

Young and broke

When I was in my late teens and early 20s, I can’t count how many times we all piled into a friend’s car and headed to the slopes. We packed our own lunches and were in line to grab the first chairlift to the summit (even after a three-hour drive north). One short lunch break and we skied until the lifts stopped running, not caring that our fingers and toes were in the early stages of frostbite.

At the end of the day, simply peeling out of our cold, damp ski clothing in exchange for a pair of trusty jeans and a sweatshirt was après-ski heaven. To us, a warm tavern with $2 pitchers and a seat within view of the fireplace was as good as it could possibly get. It didn’t matter that the live music was so loud we couldn’t hear each other speak. There was nothing we needed to say.

20-something, no kids

Marathon day-trips were soon replaced by weekend excursions where about a half dozen of us would split costs for a condo on an access road somewhere. Our primary focus remained catching the first chair and pushing our thighs to the limits.

With a condo down the road, we were safe to plant ourselves in the pub of our choosing for an extended period of time, where we would debate the most important après-ski decision of the day: do we stay in the pub all night or head back to the condo for a shower before heading back out to the bars. There was danger in returning to the condo because we could end of falling asleep. There was never a wrong decision.

Kids

Perhaps nothing changes the definition of après-ski more than the introduction of one’s children to the skiing experience. Whether the kids are spending the day in day-care, or in a SkiWee program, or tagging along with the adults, they (not you) are the focus.

Currently with an 8-year-old and a 3-year-old, no longer am I hitting the first chair at 8:30 a.m. I’m lucky if I can have one child in long underwear by that time. More likely, I’m mopping up spilled cereal and tiring of my own voice announcing that we must be on the slopes by 10 at the latest.

Divide and conquer is our strategy, as we generally travel with six adults and whatever number of children are in our charge. I find getting a rough count works best as becoming too obsessed with details causes stress.

At this point in our lives, fatigue is no longer caused by spending the day on Killington’s “Outer Limits” or Sunday River’s “White Heat.” Now, fatigue is balancing the magic carpet at Cranmore, with a leashed run down Easy Street, with a hot chocolate break here and a bathroom break there.

We’ve found an après-ski utopia at Cranmore, where the kids enjoy (what I’m sure is not sanctioned by the resort) lunch tray sledding down the beginner slopes while we tag-team supervisory duties. Our goal is to tire them out so they’re asleep in the car on the drive back to our condo. On most weekends, the resort brings in kid-friendly entertainment in the form of live music, comedians or a ventriloquist. We buy time there, a wonderful place where pub meets romper-room.

If we really want to spoil ourselves, we introduce the best secret weapon known to ensure après-ski enjoyment: grandparents.

Merely by the nature of the sport, there is nothing quite like “finishing” for the day. So whether you are “avant les enfants,” “avec les enfants” or “après les enfants,” there is no way to go wrong with après-ski.

I don’t need hot tubs and crackling fires and sparkling glassware. These days, my idea of romance is pulling off my ski boots at the end of the day and slipping into an old faithful pair of hiking shoes. (I have this theory that the discomfort level of one’s ski boots is inversely proportional to the level of après-ski enjoyment).

Heaven these days is screaming toddlers who’ve finally hit the wall and are out for the count before 8 p.m. Apres-ski utopia is a comfortable couch with my feet propped up and a clear view of the football game. I think skiing insiders can relate.