Kenny C.
Yelp
Mount Hood Meadows ,
It's beautiful this time of year fresh lines, white dreams,
Corduroy mornings and powder-day schemes.
Mount Hood stands tall in a snow-globe trance,
One look down the run and your skis start to dance.
The service is tight, like boots buckled right,
Friendly from first chair to last call at night.
Lifties throwing waves, tickets scanned clean,
Even when you fumble your pass like you've never skied before in your life been there, seen
The lifts spin smooth, no clanks, no fear,
Just uphill glory and mountain cheer.
Chair swings steady, the ride feels prime,
Enough time to breathe, joke, and rethink that double-black one more time.
The terrain flows clean long cruisers, steeps that bite,
Trees whisper "send it," groomers say "glide."
Snow sprays up cold, skis hum and sing,
That sound they make when you're doing everything right... or at least telling yourself you are.
The vibe is pure ski town, relaxed and real,
Goggles on helmets, poles in a pile, steel.
Everyone's stoked, nobody's loud,
Except that one guy explaining his line like he's filming a ski movie sir, we all fell on that run.
By day's end your legs are cooked, your face wind-burned red,
You're clomping to the lodge like a newborn deer instead.
But you're smiling hard, already convinced,
Mount Hood Meadows just skied its way straight onto the "must return" list.