It's slopestyle semis today, but with a complimentary lift ticket in pocket, how could I be expected to watch much of that? Snowpark Curnius! Laps in the slush, slashing like we were in Costa Rica, laughing, listening to birds chirp from the surrounding woods. This too is the BEO, more a celebration of snowboarding than a mere contest. Everyone involved—staff, industry folks, media, pros, spectators—is encouraged to ride. The resulting ambiance, the smiles and stoke, makes the BEO awesome for all, year after year.
Lunchtime led the homies and me back to the room where the shade was welcoming. We clicked on the live feed and kicked back to watch the end of the ladies' slopestyle, then the men's after that. Yes, we could have been watching it live; yet no, we were not AWOL. Slopestyle is something like golf or the Tour de France: best seen on TV. Sure, in person you'll gasp at the backside 12 in 3D, appreciate the speed, height, and distance, hear the chatter, swoosh, silence, and the cheers. But it's only one of four kickers or rails you'll really see. For the rest of the run the rider is either ant-sized or invisible. A computer screen, however, gives close-ups of the entire run, with scores (for those who care) and commentating by old schoolers and pros, even by people with strange British accents (Europe . . .).
The last run of the last men's heat came up and I said what the hell. From hotel door to bottom of the slopestyle course in about twenty minutes: deluxe. It was late afternoon—the comp was lagging on due to exhaustive TV replays. From the empty gondola, windows open, I heard more birds and watched the masses turn their way down their last run. Up top, it was quiet and the sun was nearing the shark-jaw horizon. Over at the slopestyle course, though, the music and MC and bibbed riders were still on full blast. I took the (insert expletive) T-bar to the top and found a tent full of competitors watching the action . . . on TV.
Their camaraderie impressed me. One guy's road to the finals may just have been washed out by a powerful set of perfectly rotated and stomped airs, but he'll hoot anyway. Sick snowboarding is sick snowboarding. Several riders are up at the starting gate at once, strapping in, waiting, watching. Before dropping, one will give fist fives to a few, wish them all good luck, and hear some whoops before sliding the first rail. Down below, he's congratulated or consoled by those who rode before him. Key the Ramones: "We're a happy family . . ."
The last man displayed his tricks and everyone split for the day. Even the sun was heading out. I cruised around the space station lodge in search of photos, and came across the dudes behind the voices on TV. We hit the trail, the Snowpark Curnius run again, so fun, empty now, shadowy instead of bright white, but still not frozen, just slushy, perfect. From time to time I looked out and over to the horizon where some jutting Alps were precise and slightly orange below a dusky blue sky. Moguls toward the end checked our thighs but not our spirits. Laps like these linger longer in the mind.
Our path dropped us down a final hill and straight onto the snowy, flat plaza that separates the hotel buildings. A final slash, then a bit of spray as we halted and unstrapped, leaving the boards where they were. Five steps and we were on the Indy Bar terrace, its wooden picnic tables packed with guys and gals in snowboard boots and outerwear. The après was on, the crew already showering the place with spilled beer and talk of today's riding. Quick as a Euro hardbooter, I had a half-liter in my belly and another in my hand. Jacketless, I had to fend off the cold somehow.
More Swiss brew went down after dinner. Those eliminated from slopestyle were now on vacation. Danny Davis didn't qualify, so he came for drinks, alongside Kevin Pearce. Yep, KP was chillin' at this year's BEO. In fact, he was like a guest of honor, his presence illuminating us with snowboarding stoke pure like fire. Sitting with Kevin and Danny, watching them laugh and smile—the look in their eyes—I was face to face with an aspect of snowboarding as crucial to us as riding sideways itself: the brotherhood, and sisterhood. Hells yeah, I thought—I love snowboarding.
Another day of snow-shredding fun wrapped up, all of us obeying orders from BEO mission control. Next up: slopestyle finals.
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