Some years the snow god giveth. Some years the snow god taketh. But without question we show up in jorts and gapeth. π π β·οΈ π¨οΈ π₯
On the first sunrise of April, we honor the gapers who came before us and those who will yard sale generations after us. π«‘ πͺ¦ πΏ π
Come one, come all, come slutty. π£ π π€ The mountain may be cooked. The vibes are not. Drinks will be cold, sausage will be hot, and at least one pair of blades will not survive the day.
Come ugly. Ski stupid. Leave legend. π€‘ πΏ π
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