Sunday, July 30

Discovery Basin

At the start of our first full production season here at FREEZE, we received a letter from one Peter Pitcher, owner, manager, and general head honcho of Discovery Basin Ski Area in Montana. Apparently, our magazine rubbed Pete the wrong way; he sent an open letter to the resort industry, via our Junk Mail column, which contained such gems as I dont want any rude people trashing up the place, so you can tell your readers to avoid my place. We did the only thing we felt we could do: We organized a trip and began fielding requests from our readers in an effort to assemble an infiltration team. Then, like a mail bomb in our post office box, Chad and Bryce arrived. Chad and Bryce are rude, Canadian, and have been known to trash places when requested. The two live out of a rude, Canadian RV whose diesel power generator is obnoxious enough to shatter even the endless silence of the Montana Mountains. They survive off cheap beer, doughnuts, and summertime construction work. Picture the McKenzie brothers, only really good in the bumps. Its a cold evening in Montanas Anaconda Pintlers range, but the RV is a diesel-fueled oasis in Discoverys vacant parking lot. Slayer blasts over the din of the generator. Over a makeshift table strewn with metal CDs, ski mags, and Discovery trail maps, tomorrows strategies are debated. Its decided that well hit Pitcher where it counts: kids. Get the youth of Discovery Basin to defect to our camp, and mayhem is sure to ensue.

But we cant hurt any civilians? Bryce asks, without masking his disappointment.

No civilians.

What if Pitcher finds us out? Chad asks with a malicious grin.

Proceed with evasive action.

The morning dawn is cold and gray. Pitcher is nowhere to be found, and the team proceeds to Discoverys vaunted backsidea well-pitched bowl of considerable vertical that hasnt seen snow in weeks. Fortunately, the Canucks arent scared of car-sized bumps. By lunchtime, no less than 10 of Discoverys little grommets are lined up behind Chad and Bryce, who are sizing up a kicker at the bottom of the bowl, much to the horror of their parents waiting with baited breath below. Bryce drops in first, clearing several hundred yards of bumps flawlessly before launching his patented double-grab dump chute. The kids cheer. The parents gasp. Chad drops, rotating a clean back flip onto the unforgiving hardpack. The kids go nuts. The parents start to panic. Before anyone can notify Pitcher, 10-, 11-, and 12-year-old kids are spinning helis, pulling mute grabs, and generally creating a ruckus up here in middle of nowhere, Montana. We stand beneath the kicker and watch contentedly. After lapping the kicker several times, we catch wind that Pitcher has been alerted to our presence. We tell our new recruits to meet us at the RV at the end of the day, and make ourselves scarce. Attempting to retake the RV through the crowded parking lot, we finally meet our nemesis. In the ensuing standoff, Chad shows the reflexes that have made him an internationally feared ski terrorist.

Whats FREEZE?

Dont play dumb with me kid. What are you doing on my mountain?

Im doing a report on community ski hills for my college paper.

Thats not what Ive heard.

Honest. Would you mind giving a quick interview? As Chad runs interference, we hightail it back to the RV, all the while, further polluting the minds of Discoverys youth with numerous copies of the magazine and countless stickers. One little grommet confides in Bryce, Next winter, Im gonna drop out of school and spend my winter driving around in an RV and skiing.

Bryce fires up the RV. I think our work here is done.