I was only half joking when I told a coworker I was going to Tahoe for the weekend, but I didn't think I would ski much. It turned out to be right on. I skied about two hours on Saturday and not at all on Sunday.

I got up there at 11pm on Friday. There were a few cars in the driveway, but when I came inside the whole house was slumbering. I plugged in, turned on the TV and settled in for the Papal Death Watch.

In the morning, a few people headed off for Kirkwood, but I sat around with the kitchen table with Kristen, a Catholic, and Russell, a determinist atheist, to talk about religion, faith and the existence of god. It was just the sort of conversation I suspect many people are having in the wake of the unfortunate Schiavo business and the passing of the pontiff.

It was sunny and beautiful outside, and the snow was meant to be really good, so there really was no excuse for wasting the day away, but it's the end of the season and we've all gotten tons of great ski days in. About 11:30, Kristen and I took off for Heavenly, parked at the Stagecoach Lodge in Nevada and skied for about 2 hours. It's part of the beauty of having a season pass that lets you ski as long you want without any guilt.

That night five of us in the house decided to go out. We had one drink at a place called Whiskey Dick's but decided to leave because they wanted to charge us a 5 dollar cover (there was a band coming on later) if we wanted to keep drinking. We left and drove to Meyers to the Divided Sky where a acid jazz band was playing very loud and the bourbon was flowing very fast. By the time we left around midnight, I had four or five drinks, and for a lightweight like me, that's a serious amount.

When we got home around 1 in the morning, we did some serious damage to the house bar. Ed was mixing his eponymous drink which is OJ, Malibu and cherry juice. Sounds sweet and it is, but they go down way, way too easy. We killed off a bottle of Malibu and a lot of vodka and ended up in the hot tub where I stayed until I could see blue sky peeking from behind the clouds. Both my body and my brain were completely pickled.

I woke in the morning to a mild hangover and a serious snowstorm. The sky was white. Flurries were blowing all over the place. We had lost an hour, and no one had the will to ski. We took a few hours to recover and then went out to Heidi's for a massive cholesterol laden breakfast.

Back at the house, we cleaned up (it was a fucking mess after the debauchery of the previous night), packed up and hit the road around 1 with the idea that we'd all meet at the Connecticut Yankee in SF to watch the Red Sox-Yankee game. But almost everyone in Tahoe must have had the same idea. The road out was jammed up. It could have been the traffic. It could have been an accident. It could have been the fresh snow. Whatever it was, I didn't want to sit it. I pulled up to the others and told them I was turning around.

I was back at the house for less than 5 minutes, when the front door opened and Ed came up the stairs. He was quickly followed by Russell and Kristen. They all had decided they weren't going to make it to the city in time for the game. Russell who's from Vermont and Kristen who's dad is the pitching coach for the Sox, are livelong die hard fans. They weren't going to miss the game for traffic.

We had a few hours to kill before game time so we watched American Beauty and ordered a couple of pizzas. The game started. The Sox looked good at first, hanging in there with the Yanks, but Randy Johnson settled down and the Sox collapsed. I left after the 5th inning because I wanted to get most of the icy and windy Highway 50 behind me before darkness fell.

Days Skied This Season: 19