My last trip to Mammoth was simultaneously the best and worst snowboard adventure in the history of winter sport. It started in fresh powder and ended in the hospital. Allow me to explain.
To begin, my friend Andy got a new hat. This story will make more sense if you understand something about urban headwear — the point of it is to look new. The bill must remain straight, and the stickers should stay firmly adhered. Andy was reluctant to bring his new hat to Mammoth because he knew how difficult it would be to maintain it on such a drunken excursion.
Andy should have heeded his instincts.
Saturday began incredibly. All four of us were at the same skill level (awesome), so we flew down every trail, covering the entire mountain by last lift.
To celebrate (and to continue our buzz), we decided to hit the local brewery for a free beer tasting. Our friend Mike knew the employees, so generous pours flowed handsomely.
At this point, we were solidly tipsy. Yet, Andy’s hat was still up to the urban standard of brand-newness (real word). But feeling disaster was imminent, we decided to quit while we were ahead, go back to Mike’s place and do a power-hour before bed.
What’s a power-hour you ask? Well, it’s when you drink a shot of beer each minute for an entire hour. And who does a power-hour immediately before bed? No one should. No one.
The worst part about a power-hour is its uncanny ability to give you a second wind. And so, we drunkenly jogged to the bus stop at eleven o’clock at night in order to catch the last shuttle into town.
Now, the rest of the night is a bit of a blur. But what I do know is this: the last I saw Andy, his baseball cap would still be deemed acceptable by any urban headwear aficionado. In other words, I had nothing to do with it.
Andy showed up at Mike’s place at thee o’clock in the morning with six stitches above his eye. Apparently, he was mid-altercation with a guy in the taxi when he got sucker-punched by the guy’s girlfriend (yes, GIRLfriend).
And she was wearing rings.
After spending the rest of the night on an unsuccessful mission to find his assaulters, we packed our stuff and then drove silently back to Los Angeles without riding at all on Sunday. Best/Worst trip ever.
Oh, and Andy now needs a newer hat. Enjoy the comic.
