Hot Tub Logic

Skiing is about anticipating the day to come. It's about having a couple beers in a crowded bar and ordering nachos. Making plans to get up early and head to the hill. It's about sleeping through that time and getting to the mountain two hours 'late' only to realize that you left your ski boots right next to your bed.

Skiing is about numerous things with the actual activity reigning only while you're doing it. The rest of the time is all about relaxing, cooking huge meals then meeting people out.

One of the best things about the ski experience is when you find your way to a hot tub. It doesn't really matter what kind of tub it is or how nice. The hot tubs most skiers see are large co-op tubs in condo complexes and the like - these are the most interesting ones.

They are places of maximum release, head-back sighs, and occasionally sources of alpenglow views. Vacation tract tubs are cruising grounds for high school spring breakers, deal sealers for thirty-somethings and glass-free bastions of politeness and solicited conversations.

People spanning geographic and economic worlds watch each other disrobe and awkwardly enter a vat of uncomfortably hot water. After tub-entry rituals are completed (wincing face, legs giving out on the stairs in, falling back onto the bench, etc.) a 'hello' or 'howdy' is offered. From there it's whatever the Tub Gods care to see - drawn out discussions of insurance seminars or golf schools, shared beers, peace pipes, or just silent coexistence.

Some people hate hot tubs, though. One of my roommates is repulsed by the thought of Human Soup and shared germs, coughs, and the unexpected leg bump from your unknown (and usually unsanitary) tub neighbor. But Tina's in the minority on this one. Most people who can stomach network TV can make it through extended tubbing sessions.

On occasion you can strike up the most interesting conversations in the condo hot tub. The casualness created by body exposure and funny looking legs makes people willing to talk about anything at length.

Last Saturday some friends and I borrowed someone's tub key for their association rec center. It was perfect - medium grade facilities, plexiglass / wrought iron gate, broken bubbler, open sky view, 200 condo units nearby. It also sported a sign from 1978 which attempted to crush the pillars of the decade - "No Nude Bathing" "No One Allowed In Tub After 11pm" "No Intoxicated Persons Allowed."

The first people we encountered were already in the water and had been drinking cheap red wine for a while. Ours being an exceptionally loud group, we were impressed with their ability to talk over us and eventually establish an Alpha rule of the swirling waters. The ex-marine constructed a holder for the snow deflecting umbrella which belonged to the old guy's wife. The overly buzzed couple shouted their dinner suggestions at the others while spilling wine into the tub. They didn't stay long.

The next two people initially brought about the worst characteristic inherent to group hot tubs - stereotyping. We thought they met in Tahoe with directions the escort service gave each of them. Turns out she's a high school teacher and he's an accountant (oops!). She teaches english and reminded us of the classics - Old Man and the Sea, Death of a Salesman, The Great Gatsby. Amazingly, her school doesn't teach Catcher in the Rye because of 'risky' content! At one point the whole tub was trying to remember the main character in Death of a Salesman - "Willy Lomax?" "No, Willy Loman." She was cool because she was trying to diversify the school's limited content and almost got fired for giving a student a copy of the book Naked Lunch (sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, advent of the phrase Steely Dan).

After they took off we had a pleasantly quiet group of a father, his daughter, and her middle school friends. By the time we had spent 15 minutes with them we were pretty pruned and it was time to head for the sauna where our clothes had been heating for the last 1 ½ hours.

Although this particular session was a little longer than usual, it did the trick. None of us were sore for skiing on Sunday which was one of the best days yet. But it wouldn't have mattered if we were tight and beaten anyway, because, after all, it's about the entire experience more than anything else.

Alex West is a freelance paver, writer, event contractor and publicist whose hot tub accountant buddy taught him a bunch of tax write-offs he can take because of this column. His goal is to become a resort vagabond chronicling a Tahoe ski season in this column.

send an email to Alex at Winter Daze

© 1998 alex west