From the Selkirks to the Rockies and the Coast range, Joel has the Rogers Pass Baldface Lodge Powder Creek Lodge Tom Moseley props his elbow on the truck door. "You know, if you were down at The Shop more you might know these things. Maybe Dooley has it." "It feels great! I'm lucky, because I'm 23 and now I have the rest of my life to run with it, to do whatever I want. And that's an awesome feeling. I knew the minute I crossed the line [at the Olympics], this just put everything together. What else can I say? But believe me, not a second goes by that I don't remind myself: I'm really lucky." "My dad taught me that you don't go to the store for anything," Jonny says. "No matter what it is, no matter how screwed up, you can somehow fix it right here. You just gotta roll up your sleeves and get busy." You head down the block to the immense, concrete, Moseley-owned shed known as The Shop and find whatever tools and parts you need. Here on the San Francisco Bay waterfront just a few miles north of the Golden Gate Bridge, adjacent to the Moseley-developed Paradise Cay Yacht Club at the end of a vast, Moseley-owned cul-de-sac, The Shop is a forbidding industrial space where you suspect a resourceful engineer and a sufficiently innovative mad scientist could concoct a missile with enough throw weight to convince Indian nationalists to think about global, rather than regional, nuclear war. It is the sort of grimy, tool-rich environment to which every child who ever assembled an Estes rocket or fueled up a Cox model airplane dreamed of having access. And Jonny stands and puts his arm around the old lady and flashes a hang-loose gesture at the camera and the brake light still isn't fucking working. And then the UPS lady shows up like she shows up every day with crates of ski parkas and Jonny Moseley posters and boxes of fan mail. Today she also has a special box, one that's smaller than the rest, from the U.S. Olympic Committee, and Jonny rips it open and pulls out an immense gold ring the size of a plum and slips it over his index finger. There are dozens of diamonds outlining the five-ringed Olympic symbol, and lettering saying "Gold Medal Winner 1998" along the sides. Jonny shakes his head. "I ordered the smallest ring they had when I got to Nagano," he says, "because I didn't know if I was gonna win. I guess they upgraded me." Instead, Jonny's buddy Trevor, sitting in the passenger seat, calls back and pretends to be Jonny's agent. "Some things have changed, there's no question about it," Jonny says of life after the medal. "I mean my time is more valuable. My personal time is more valuable to me, and my time is more valuable to other people. But as far as the basic flavor, my life didn't change that much. I mean, I was loving life before and I'm loving life even more now. I've always been lucky, I mean, really lucky. It's all good. It's all so good I don't even like to think about how good it is. So let's stop talking about it. 'Cause if you talk about it and then figure out why it's so good, then from that moment it probably won't be good anymore. Like, if you have to think about it too much, how good can it be?" "I'm having a party," Jonny says into the phone. "And Melissa tells me she has to work and she can't get the day off. I think she'd have a great time up there if you could just give her the day off." The owner of the company is unrelenting. "Dad, where's the air tank?" He parks the car alongside a stone retaining wall, next to the Mandarin Villa Chinese restaurant in Tahoe City. "See, 'Muffin Man' has two meanings. There's like, muffins, like the kind you eat. And then there's muffins, as, like, girls. And I'm the Muffin Man. And this " This off-season, however, has been more casual for Jonny. His usual training regimen has been thrown askew by the demands of celebrity. And though never a party animal, he has been known to have a soft spot for certain substances that after the Nagano Games were commonly associated with Canadian snowboarders. This is one of those days, one of those beautiful northern California days, when the air is clear and crisp like it's being pumped in from some cosmic purifying unit that is invisible beyond the horizon, and the tingle of it is making everyone feel giddy at the upcoming weekend and the party on the houseboat up on the Sacramento River delta. Even the Muffin Man has got the feeling as he helps load a keg of Budweiser into the back of a friend's Ford Expedition. Jonny points around him at the car interior, the stone wall, the parking lot free slots 32x flaming crates slots, but what he is really doing is gesturing at his whole lifestyle the gold medal he won at this year's Winter Olympics, his family's many houses and boats, his good looks, his killer smile, the crates of fan mail, the endorsements, the big post-Olympics income real money blackjack numbers, the fame, the recognition online slots real money has a scent, the whole golden life. There is a specific geography to Muffin Land that includes the Moseley residence in Tiburon, Marin County, California; a ski cabin in Squaw Valley; and his family's houseboat on a private island in the Sacramento River delta. It includes Tiburon's Paradise Cay Yacht Harbor and the attendant Yacht Club, built by the Moseley family, as well as a compound on the Caribbean Island of St. Croix. There are also the numerous Marin County lots worth millions of dollars that were originally purchased by his grandfather, Tim Moseley, a prosperous inventor of nautical instruments. There are a Jeep Wrangler, a 1964 Pontiac Bonneville convertible, and the Chevy Blazer. There are yachts, speedboats, Waverunners, race cars, and motorcycles. There are repair shops, junkyards, and scrap heaps. There are also backhoes, tugboats, and dredging barges. Dooley is a hippie who works around the boatyard. Dooley was last spotted cranking some Neil Young from the beleaguered speakers of his red Volkswagen bus as he started up the sputtering engine. Jonny drives over to Dooley's boat and reconnoiters, but the pump's not there, so Jonny climbs back into the Blazer and returns to his parents' garage, hoping that a can of aerosol flat-tire fixer might fill the trailer tire. But the one can of flat-fix that Jonny can find is an ancient specimen that emits only a gentle wheeze of fluorocarbons before it gives out. Another character-building lesson in the Way of Mo. "I always wanted to be the best," Jonny says. "I think competition is key. At an early age, because my brothers used to work me, I realized what competition did, how it made me feel. I realized what it meant to me. I love the feeling of winning." As an amateur, Jonny's pure athletic skill and competitive drive had been enough to carry him to the podium. But when he went out on the World Cup tour, he admits baccarat 2 sided, "I just got smoked." At first he thought that what was required was merely better conditioning and greater strength. "I went and I got strong spin palace box," he explains. "I just started working out like a banshee, you know, hardly skiing. To some degree, it helped." "No problem, it's gonna be OK," Jonny says as he touches the iron to the resinous solder. "Like 20 people 25 tops. You want the whole list? OK. Trevor and Josh and Beau and Mark and Toffee and Arman and. oh, fuck!" Initially, one of the perquisites of skiing was that it meant Jonny missed a few weeks of school every winter. But gradually, as Jonny racked up victories in major events, it began to seem possible that skiing was more than a means of skipping school and delaying college. "When I was 16, I won junior nationals again," Jonny recalls. "Then next I won junior nationals and North American amateurs; I mean, I won everything in sight. For a couple of years there I was getting way better, I was getting awesome. And when I made the U.S. Ski Team, I realized I could get paid to ski." Jonny is that rarest of ultra-successful professional athletes in that he manages to combine the supreme confidence required to shred at the highest level of his sport with a gracious humility that makes it impossible to begrudge him his accomplishments. "He is really cool about who he is," says Shane Anderson, a fellow professional skier. "And he doesn't have to act big to make sure you know he's a big deal." "Dude," Jonny says online gaming canada olympic medals, grinning his wide-toothed smile beneath his yellow wraparound Smith shades. "That's me singing. I got totally trashed one day and went into the studio with this guitarist and he had me sing this song." "We'll see," he says. "But it's definitely the kind of atmosphere old friends, no responsibility where it's tempting." Maybe later free casino kitty glitter, in the distant future, Jonny will know sad things, too. Maybe life will someday deal him an eight and a seven instead of an ace and a king. Maybe he will know the frustration of being unable to attain all of his goals, unable to fulfill every dream, having to settle for not being the best. Maybe he will even know what it is to fail. Yet Muffin Land is also about being a great athlete, about being the number-one-ranked mogul skier in the world and about winning two World Cup overall freestyle titles safe online casino live roulette, five combined junior and professional World Cup titles, and 14 World Cup events. It is about landing a radical 360 mute grab air at the end of the biggest run of your life and in the process revolutionizing your sport. It is about busting a version of that same jump for The Late Show with David Letterman in the driving rain on a cordoned-off New York City street. (It was Letterman who gave Jonny the nickname Big Air.) It is about appearing on ABC's The Superstars competition broadcast in April and surprising the field by finishing second, ahead of athletes like Kordell Stewart and Herschel Walker and Lennox Lewis. And it is most certainly about the gold medal he won with that spinning, skis-crossed jump in the moguls at Nagano the jump that catapulted him onto Oprah. Rosie. The Today Show. and Good Morning America .
Right now, all Jonny needs is compressed air to inflate a flat tire on a decrepit trailer holding one of his jet skis. As he walks around The Shop floor looking for the air tank and compressor, he passes bushels of gaskets, crates of brake fluid, piles of spark plugs, engine casings, greasy bolts, plugged exhausts, rotted mufflers, and pieces of just about every post-World War II nautical or automotive part ever made. Or, they're four, or five, or seven booze-soaked years spent wandering around drunk with your friends with your shirt off, mastering ping pong-related parlor games while scheduling as many of your classes for two days of the week, or at nights, so you can be on the hill as much as humanly possible once the snow flies. Either way, if you're 18 right now, you're more than likely looking at a pile of acceptance letters from a variety of colleges, and trying to figure out where to invest your youth and exuberance for the next several years. Attend here if you: want a quiet college experience dropping monster cliffs on stable maritime snowpack at Mt. Baker while smoking a metric ton of weed and becoming a badass kayaker on the side. Attend here if you: exclusively drink Labatt Blue and Molson, don’t mind living in a small-ass town with no nightlife, love to party and get after it in the same places week after week. April 9 th. 2015 After four years of crushing the hardwood glades, pounding Heady Topper, and consuming countless pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you will do one of two things: move to Jackson Hole upon graduation to ski bum, or join a radicalized arm of Greenpeace. Whatever you do, you won't be able to resist the quaintness of the Green Mountains, and will eventually start a family in Burlington's suburbs and teach your children to tap maple trees. Attend here if you: dream about tele-skiing glades in your sleep, wear Chacos regardless of the weather. A huge influx of students from Asia has brought UBC's diversity way above the normal mix of your traditional ski school, and if you or your parents can afford it, you can live a full city life while going to classes on the side. or live off ramen in a sleeping bag on the streets to make the payments on the snowmobile you end up buying after freshman year. Attend here if you: don't want to ever shave again to fit in, drive a pickup made of duct tape with a 150-pound dog in the bed, and value charging burly terrain in sick snow above having anyone around to brag to about it. Attend here if you: want to be cultured and live in a (awesome online blackjack games with other players, expensive) city while going to school, want to become an astronaut, want to ski bum at Whistler while getting an education, are Canadian. How could you not love a school with Jay Peak, Stowe, Sugarbush, Mad River Glen, Smuggler’s Notch, and Bolton Valley all within an easy hour's drive? The Ski and Snowboard Club. which considers itself the East Coast’s finest, provides discount passes and weekend rides to the resorts. If lift-accessed terrain isn’t your thing, take your bucket of granola on a backcountry trip with the Outing Club, which also runs an annual trip to the Sawtooths in Idaho for the aspiring backcountry skier. Located in the great state of Montucky (Montana) roulette wheel layout, MSU serves as the home base for a bunch of happy-go-lucky dirtybags in training who are looking to find more than their fare share of the Big Sky state's infamous cold smoke. The terrain of both Big Sky and Bridger Bowl attracts some of the better skiers, and one or two snowboarders, from around the West eager to test their skills, with hiking the ridge at Bridger the ultimate destination for those looking to get super gripped on a gnarly run. Canton is a small town located in the boondocks of upstate New York. With a population of just about 6,700 people, the student body of St. Lawrence makes up roughly a third of the entire town. What Canton lacks in size, St. Lawrence students make up for in their outgoing, partying, good-times nature. Outdoor life revolves around the Outing Club house, which is like a frat filled with hard chargers and outdoor lovers. Graduates of the OC have gone on form near-majorities of the population of Bozeman and Jackson Hole. Attend here if you: Love frats, driving long distances to ride park, and getting blackout drunk consistently. Also attend if your favorite shirt is a neon tanktop that says “#YOLO” on it. Perhaps no school on this list has as notorious a reputation as Plymouth State. Just ask any old snowboard pro or New Hampshire local about the Blue Lodge, and the degree of illegal activity going down in that story should be enough to prove why. Combine PSU’s existing social scene–one that’s garnered the school multiple top-ten finishes in Playboy’s party school rankings –with a group of rowdy dirtbag snowboarders, and you have the makings of some serious late-night college hellraising. With such an outsized population of the ski and snowboard industry, and its corresponding population of pro riders, based in Salt Lake City, it was only a matter of time before a few of them started taking some time away from chucking double flips in Park City to bang out a few college credits in the off season. If all you could ever hope to do in life is swill weak beer with pros, you’ll be excited to hear that greats like Tom Wallisch and Grete Elliasen are alums.
Michigan Tech: 200+” of snow annually. Owns Mont Ripley, 5 minutes from campus. 45 Minutes from TGR mountain-crush Mount Bohemia. 90 minutes from places like Indianhead, Blackjack, Big Powderhorn.
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