From the “Nuts in the Woodwork” archive
(Commercial) Up in the Rocky Mountains on Highway 145, you can find a place called Stoner. At Stoner you can smoke ’till your lungs look like a bag of Kingsford, ski unkept runs well after twilight, and crash free of charge in the lodge. But if you come, wear a really weird hat and bring your bag; because at Stoner, they don’t take kindly to “normality,” and they just don’t take Amarijuan Disgust.
Marijuana Smokers – They’re everywhere you want to go.
Everytime I drive past Stoner, my imagination frenzies. I’m a little twisted, but this is my image of Stoner in its days of operation…
All 37 of the season passholders roll out of bed feeling like total seeds. They limber up their joints and drag themselves to the bus stop. The door swings open, exhaling a thick Jamaican cloud. “Can-a-bus get me to Stoner?’ the snowbums all ask in unison.
Once there, they rapidly spin up to the top. The egomaniacs come burning down through the blunts, trying to smoke their buddies. The jibbers all smurf a jib in the jib park; and the Mary Janes are totally cooking down the kind snow.
At lunch time, everyone heads in for the complimentary munchie bar. A waiter with bloody eyeballs might innocently ask, “Whhaat?” But lunch is finished quickly, because the good runs open in the P.M.
They all toke the big chair to the top of Green Dreams and traverse across Zig Zag. They drop down Log Jam (eschewing both Bushsmoker and See Forever Blurry) and come out on the toughest bump run on the mountain: Lost Lighter. Only the dopes dare drop down Paper Chute into the Pact Bowls. People are dying down there; and worse yet, passing out.
Ski School is very technical, and comprised of tie-dyed hippies. They’re professional charlungs that insist there is only one right way to burn it up.
Of course, my description of Stoner’s heyday might be a little off. But even so, with a name like that it was meant to go out. Even though they had the sponsorship of Gladbags, Visene and Doritos, they still weren’t pulling in enough green. I bet the guys at the ticket window were always saying, “Oh ya…I forgot to charge that guy.”