Russell and I drove up to Tahoe in his "pig" of car, a circa 1980s Jeep Cherokee. We figured the house would be empty since no one other than us RSVP'd, but it was still a shock to arrive at the house around 9:30, see no cars in the driveway and without anyone there to greet us. No one drinking beer. No one cracking jokes or telling stories. No one sitting around the fire playing games. No one. Eerie.

There was no snow on the ground. The same driveway that I spent an hour shoveling the previous Saturday was clean as a whistle. There was no snow on the grass, little on the balcony and there was a clear path in the backyard through the snow pack to the dock. A week of 50 degree afternoons had seen to that.

We slapped together a dinner of chicken and veggie curry, watched a movie(The Player), and crashed, me in a bedroom for only the second time all season.

In the morning, we awoke to clear skies and the rising sun. It was going to be a scorcher. We took out time, lingering over a lengthy breakfast of chicken apple sausage and cheddar scramble. There's not much point in hitting the hill too early after a hot day because the snow which melted the previous afternoon, freezes into a cement-like consistency overnight. It's best for the knees and any other body part that might come in contact with the mountain (like my melon) to wait until the middle of the morning when the surface has softened up somewhat.

We arrived at Heavenly around 10. The place was an empty as the house. We geared up, took the tram to the top of Gunbarrel and made our way up the hill. On the first run, Russell who had a mishap last week when one of Ed's friends plowed into in him, took a nasty digger and was done for the day. I was bummed. I wasn't going to stop skiing. It was too good, but it's always more fun to ski with someone, especially someone like Russell who's much better than I am and pushes me around the hill.

We planned to meet up at 1:30 at the California Bar and Russell downloaded, and I took off. There mountain was empty. The were no lift lines anywhere. I skied all over the mountain. Run after run after glorious run. It was hot. I was skiing in a t-shirt and a Samoan shirt. I skied from California to Nevada, back to California, to Nevada again and finally back to California. I was all over the place. The snow was soft and a little sticky in the flat spots towards the bottom, but it was nothing but fun.

Around 1:15, I was getting ready to head down to the California Bar to meet Russell for lunch. The snow was getting really soft. I made a command decision to go down the face of Gunbarrel instead of taking the cat track Roundabout. Roundabout is the easiest way down, and it's fun to wind around the face, but when it's hot, the coverage can be bag with exposed roots and rocks and it was going to be sticky. On the other hand, Gunbarrel was a straight mogul laden shot down to the lodge. But today, the mogul would be soft and forgiving and if there was ever a time I was going to hit Gunbarrel, this would be it, so I made the plunge.

It's steep and bumpy, but it was no problem really because a lot of the moguls had been flattened out by previous skiers. I cruised down with no problem, right until the end that is. I was right on top of the little run called World Cup that is adjacent to an eponymous lift and forms the last section of run linking Gunbarrel to the base. I was one turn away from the top of World Cup when I lost my balance and went down, instinctively putting my gloveless hand down on the snow, this snow which seemed oh so soft when I was skiing on it ripped through the back of my hand, turning my knuckles into a bloody mess.

It didn't hurt because my hand spot-numbed when it hit the snow and it actually looked pretty cool to have blood streaming from the back of my hand as I strolled into the California Bar.

Days Skied This Season: 22