Critical Thinking

You better think

Think about what you're trying to do to me

Think

Let your mind go, let yourself be free.

Aretha.

With Park City developers telling us lately that their ‘Scaled Down,’ up-zoned, compromise development will actually MAKE TRAFFIC BETTER or that a proposed golf course will actually USE LESS WATER than the worst-case development scenario, or that another proposed zoning change will MAKE THINGS BETTER FOR EVERYONE, it makes me wonder.  Do they think we are stupid?   We have all heard these kind of Pollyanna negotiations before.  If something is too good to be true, it usually isn’t. 

I read recently about the 4 primary mental health components of our intelligence : 1)  IQ which is standard school-type intelligence and learning, 2)  EQ is emotional intelligence, happy/sad sensitivity and how you read and react to people, 3)  SQ is social intelligence on how you make and maintain friends and lovers, 4)  AQ is adversity intelligence with the ability to stick with things when the chips are down and to get up when you fail.  Number four is new, and a surprise to me.  Resilience is intelligence.  Who knew?  We might need it. 

But I would still round out the list with these secondary intelligence components: 5)   PR which is practical intelligence on the day-to-day workings of the world, 6)  NB which is nuts and bolts intelligence on how mechanical things work 7)  PY which is physical intelligence on athleticism and how to ski, ride or play Pickleball, 8) CR is our creative side 9) EM is empathy for others 10) HW is holistic understanding and general wisdom that you gain with age.  We are all different combinations of this spectrum of intelligence.  Everyone is smart, in their own way.

So I wonder HOW developers and regulators are thinking when they propose these preposterous ideas and solutions to our first world problems in Park City like; development, traffic, water, and powder skiing.  We should all be involved in Critical Thinking to define and solve problems and priorities.  I’m not sure what Critical Thinking is because I have not seen much of it lately.   I think it is the ability to tell if someone is blowing smoke up your butt. Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear.  Trust but verify.

 So when crazy ideas like a 50 million dollar art district or a 100 million dollar railroad to Salt Lake City, a 500 million dollar gondola up Little Cottonwood Canyon, a $5 billion dollar pipeline to an empty Lake Powell or 100 billion dollar pipeline to the ocean for the Great Salt Lake are proposed, I have to ask, ‘WHAT are you thinking’?  All this is proposed using ‘other people’s money’, but in the end we all pay for everything.  For everything you do, there is something you don’t do.  You can’t do it all and you don’t get something for nothing. 

As the Corporate Industrial Ski Complex ostensibly ‘improves” our town and local alpine skiing, proposed upsized developments create less traffic and use less water, our nepotistic State Legislature meddle in local approval affairs and pay lip service to the shrinking Great Salt Lake while the Fed ‘s ignore the climate and drought at the peril of the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon, it is not enough just to sit back and wonder.  It is time to personally research and think seriously about this process, then stand up and be counted with your best opinion and options, solutions, and priorities.  Follow the facts, data, science and economics.    Use your personal combination of intelligence components to develop your own Critical Thinking capabilities.  Participate in this process as thinking and knowing constituents.  Think for yourself but think about others.  Don’t let them blow smoke.  Just Think.  

 

UNTRAMMELED

 

My wife Tracey, dog Eva and I were looking to do some skiing last Saturday but knew our local resorts were unobtainable, so we went out to the Uinta’s to get away from it all.   While not exactly an alpine start we got to the Beaver Creek trailhead at 10:00 AM and parked right in front of the entrance gate trail map.  We skinned up and took a picture of the map, like savvy kids do, and we were off.  It was a sunny zero degrees with zero people around.  Perfect.

There was a long, flat approach upstream but downstream we found a zigzag up-track in less than a half a mile.  It was wicked steep, like an old misanthrope had cut it or some young and healthy, macho-millennial showing off to their friends or their date.  Predictably it flattened off after a while after cooler heads prevailed or someone got tired, and we settled into a sustainable groove with enough purchase for us and punch for Eva.

 The higher slopes opened into low angle meadows and dwarf, standing-dead trees.  Thirty degrees in the trees is usually our avalanche mantra for worry free fun in the sun, even on high hazard days.  The pucker brush and understory that populates these low elevation ridges was buried this year with the copious snowpack, leaving some exquisite rollie-pollie hummocks. 

We poked around for a while at the top of the openings and agreed on a shaded, north-facing gully, similar to the low angle Driveway slope at Canyons, and we de-skinned quickly so we wouldn’t catch a chill.  Tracey took the first line to the left in the meadow, skiing smoothly and more confidently as she descended.  When she stopped and whistled, from her island-of-safety, I released the hound.  Eva plowed downhill in Tracey’s tracks initially, but eventually centerpunched the deep untracked snow as she gained momentum and bravado. 

When it was my turn, I checked twice to make sure my boots were buckled and in ski mode and my heal lifters were fastened down.  I had not toured in three years, for various nefarious reasons, and I was unsure of myself and ability.  Starting slow, I hugged the left side of the gully, and I was surprised how good the snow was and how easy the turns came.  I gained speed and began reading the slope further ahead, always a good sign.  The pucker-brush hummocks turned into soft moguls to be seen and skied deliberately.  Before long I was launching dynamic Telemarks, hopping in the air between bumps to switch feet, aspect and angle.  At the bottom I dug in deep for the last turn and stopped completely before releasing my final, perfect pinky-toe carve. ‘Its like riding a bike’, I thought.  I was back.  Reborn.

We had to laugh and although we had planned to be one-and-done it was too good to leave.  So we ate, drank, stripped down, skinned up and did it again and again and again.  We uncharacteristically got separated for a while and out of synch on the hidden up-track, which added some drama to the day, but our trusty Healer – Border Collie found us both and connected the dolts by running back and forth until we merged. 

Eva’s feet were getting cold, as she hung-up one foot after another, so we eventually washed out the bottom and headed back to the car before we were tired or bored, hungry or cold.  There would be no alpenglow slog to the trailhead this time with headlamps, frozen toes or blisters.  Sometimes less is more. 

We loaded up and headed into Guero’s in Kamas for a late lunch where we ate ten-dollar burritos the size of footballs.  We made it back home easily in time for beers and popcorn on the couch in our Long-Johns and the evening football game.  We don’t need a crowded industrial ski resort to have a great day; just the gravity of the mountains, Bluebird skies, fresh powder and each other.

SKI TOWN TRICKLE DOWN

 

 

Hey, just a quick note about ski town economics 101.  Say you take a private lesson for $1000 -$1300, for example.  The resort gets a whopping $800-$1000 and your instructors get a paltry $200-$300, before taxes, to spend all day keeping you safe and happy, entertained and elucidated.  That’s about $20-$30 an hour if you count their commute time and ignore their training, certification, prep time, practice, lineup, equipment, exercise and grooming.  That is what they are paying people to bus tables, drive buses and even work the ski Patrol in towns where the average home is $ 4 million, a small room is $1500 and a 4WD car is $500 a month. Sure, ski-workers take the job mostly for the love of the sport, but this is not an employee supply-chain concern or a housing issue, it is a wage crisis. 

During COVID we all learned to show our appreciation for ‘essential workers’, such as the cashiers at Papa Murphy’s, by checking the new Apple tip boxes at checkout for 15,20 even 25%.  Everything in America became 30% more than the listed price, if you included tip and taxes.  We needed to take care of the little guy and they were, literally, not making a ‘living’ wage during those uncertain times.  This was good and proper, and it is fair that it has continued. 

Unfortunately, Corporate America has embraced this and shifted the burden of paying a living wage directly to the customer, bypassing the possible negative effects on their profit margin.  Corporate Industrial Skiing has done the same thing; shift the employee wage burden to the consumers while they take the money and run, under the allure of selling millions of cheap passes that let us all ski for just $20-40 a day.   We all know the model.

And we all know that the proper solution is for the ski corporations to share a bigger slice of the profit pie with their employees.  They made hundreds of million dollars last year and ski school revenues are up at least 50%. But we know that is not going to happen due to worker dedication and poor representation, so the next time you hire someone for a day of instruction and care, guidance and education, consider their economy.  The hundred-dollar ski school tip that seemed generous years ago, is de-minimis now, is less than 10% of the actual cost and is hardly a living wage.  15-20% would be more consistent with the modern, trickle-down, tipping economy and 25% would send the real message of appreciation that you intend, and all our resort workers deserve.  Your largess is their living.

 

 

 

Escaping Stuff

 

Nothing but a tee shirt and a water bottle

When I look around the garage, all I see is all our stuff.  Bikes and skis.   Motorcycles and weed-whackers.  Basketballs and helmets.  Umbrellas and chairs   Chainsaws and cushions.  It all requires maintenance and interferes with our desire to just live simply.

  We put the hoses up in the attic and took the shovels down yesterday.  Who needs four shovels and five hoses.  Our attics and crawl spaces are full of stuff.   Half of our house is a storage shelter, and we are not hoarders.  We are minimalists.  It just creeps up on you.  One thing at a time until you are buried in stuff. 

We can’t move into our small empty dream cabin in the woods because it would take days to purge, merge and move.  Its like boiling frogs.  Ya don’t know what you've got till you're gone.   Eventually all purchases disappoint, and all possessions possess the possessor. 

I always thought that it would be great to have a mountain home, a beach bungalow, a desert casita and a city apartment.  But I have friends with multiple houses and all they do is drive around and fix stuff.  I ask them if they want to go for a ski or a ride and they say they have to clean or fix something or work with a contractor.  They love that kind of stuff, are great at it and make a lot of money doing it, but enough is enough.  

We drive by or read about these massive second in our neighborhood and wonder aloud, ‘what do you do with all that space’ and my wife always says, ‘vacuum’, and I think, ‘fix stuff or worry about all the contractors that are ripping you off’.  It does not seem really worth it all.  I see garage sales as a feeble attempt at liberation.  Who wants to leave all this crap to their kids or spouse.  It is a race to the grave because no one wants to clean this mess up themselves.  Somebody has to save us from ourselves.  Set me free.   Take my stuff - please.  

So we go away occasionally to get physically removed from our stuff, our baggage; physical, mental, emotional and social, our responsibilities and obligations, career connections and interpersonal commitments.  We pack our camper van (of course) with all the stuff we can fit, bikes and motorcycles, paddleboards and golf clubs, wetsuits and boogie boards.  Even when we travel, camp, run rivers and even backpack we bring our stuff.  But we leave the mountains and head for the coast.  Another recreational geography of dynamic hope. 

Happy Place!

To the Central Coast of California to escape the hustle-bustle and the Hurley-Burley of home.  To beat the crowds and skirt the traffic.  I’d tell you the name of the town but then I would have to kill you.  A sleepy little ghost surf town that has no extra water or land and doesn’t want to grow.  Sustainable and sensible.  

It’s a long way from everywhere, which is its charm, and foggy in the summer, which is its salvation.  Any place destined to maintain its good vibe is hard to get to and has a fatal flaw, to go along with the perfect snow, sand or surf. 

We found our hidden place with its unique attractions and fatal flaws, where we can go to escape our avarice and greed, to quell or quench our own intelligence and ambition.  A place where we can be mindful and live in the moment, be where we are, be who we are.  We are constantly surprised with what we find there.  We go to our special, happy place to chill and escape our stuff and ourselves but wherever we go, there we are.  And so is our stuff.

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Retirement Entitlement

 I read recently about the 4 main components of Intelligence Quotient : 1)  IQ which is standard school type intelligence and learning; 1A) derived math and science, 1B)  memorized English and history, 2)  EQ is emotional intelligence, happy/sad sensitivity and how you read and react to people, 3)  SQ is social intelligence on how you make and maintain friends and lovers, 4)  AQ is adversity intelligence and the ability to stick with things when the chips are down and figure it out and get up.  That one was new and surprised me as appropriate and applicable.  More on that later.

 I would round out the top 10 with: 5)   PR which is practical intelligence on the day to day stuff, 6)  NB which is nuts and bolts intelligence on how things work 7)  PY which is physical intelligence on athleticism and how to play football or ski, surf or compete, 8) CR is our creative side 9) EM is empathy for others and understanding of the common good and public welfare and 10) HW is holistic understanding and general wisdom.  We all have different mixtures of each of my top ten spectrum that makes us what we are.  My dad used to say “everyone is smart at something; you just have to find out what that is and celebrate it.”  Fair enough.

I get that parents should raise their kids to deal with #4 - adversity, to struggle and to fail, and then get back up and try again.  Parents these days coddle their kids and try to save them from disappointment.  Everyone gets a trophy.  They say you should prepare the kids for the road, not prepare the road for your kids.  My folks used to predict that I would fail out of every fancy school that I went to, so I didn’t.  My dad once told me I was a gum-shoe and too slow and small to be a wide receiver.  Then he said I should play quarterback because I was smart and knew the game.  Back-hand parenting, I call it.  It is old-school, but it works. Every kid should know the back of that hand.

But I struggle lately with adversity.  Let’s just say I am adversity adverse.  I have this retirement entitlement where I don’t want to deal with too much reality, wait in lines and traffic or share popular places, go shopping, endure stupidity, or figure stuff out.  I did all that and now I’m tired of it and don’t want to, or have to, do it.  I’m not good at it anymore.* So if any little thing comes up I get disappointed, grumbly, angry or mad.  Its silly but I’ve had enough of that.  I am inwardly imploring for the Seinfeld blessing of  “serenity now”. **

 What I’d rather do is sit on my back porch with my wife and drink coffee and watch the sunrise, and then after an easy day, sit on my front porch and drink a beer and watch the sun set with the neighbors.  I am comfortable with who I am, with my achievements and my limitations. I get it that exercising our character for adversity keeps us strong and resilient but I’ve got nothing to prove.  I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed but at least I have seven or eight out of my Top Ten Intellect Quotients to get me through my days.

The Golden Years isn’t always about challenging yourself, it’s about rewarding yourself for all you have done by giving you time to rest and relax, think and appreciate, meditate and do yoga, be who you are and do what you want to do.  So if I appear a little grumpy and irritable or drop an inappropriate F-bomb now and then, cut me some slack.  I’m working and  practicing for number 4 – 'adversity now.' 

*They say it may be from banging my head too many times that makes me irritable and emotional.  Hell, I cry now during the national anthem at hockey games, and it is not even our national anthem.  I like Oh Canada better, it’s not so bellicose.  I am working on the irritability, but I don’t mind the emotional stuff, it makes me want to be a better man.

**We used to climb mountains, run rapids, forge dessert canyons and ride across continents when we were young, with nothing but a rain shell , water bottle and granola bar, to prove to ourselves and our parents that we could do it.  Now, who cares?  When I’m out riding now I see a climb up ahead and think ‘AFH’ – Another Freaking Hill – and I’m riding an e-bike.  Friends will ask me if I want to take a hike, ride, road trip, or fly to South America for Mardi Gras.   I’ve got to say honestly – not really.  Been there, done that.  I’ve been everywhere – twice. 

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Guys and Gals

I have arrived.  I guess.  I have a ‘guy’ that cuts my lawn now and rakes my leaves.  Collin.  A great kid.  A ski racer.  His parents drive him here and wait for him to finish.  Great parents.  And when he is in training in Italy or Argentina his mother or a friend comes over and cuts my lawn.   I wonder if they shovel snow?

My Guy Collin started at $20 a cut.  This year he wanted $40.   We settled at $30 - with a $5 tip.  He’s a good negotiator and he chats me up every time he stops by.   It’s not about the money, it’s about responsibility and accountability.  He has a Pay Pal and Venmo account, and he is reliable.  I’ve been looking for a kid to cut my lawn for years and could not find one willing and able.  Colin is a life saver.  So I can dawdle at my own little instant gratification projects, go for a bike ride or hit the hammock.  I’m free. 

Our lawns are our symbol of Americana.  I can’t grasp the sum total of the reality of the real world but if my lawn is neat and trim than all must be right in the universe.   It is our membership card in our neighborhood, keeping up with the Joneses and maintaining our property values. It is our grounding in the middle class where all the real work and the fun is.  It is our instant, visible gratification in a world where there is less and less.

It takes hundreds of dollars of water a month to water my lawn, water that could be put to good use somewhere else.  Brown is not beautiful here yet so we feed it and weed it and water it and cultivate it so it grows well and has to be cut more.  We have green lawns and golf courses, parks and farms and we wonder where all the water goes.  It is like the joy of banging our heads against the wall; it feels so good when we stop.

The point is I don’t have to cut it and I love that.  I was getting tired of it.  Dreading it.  Now I just say let it grow.  I know my dad taught us to cut our own lawn and paint our own house but I am sick of lawn and home maintenance.  It never stops.  The dandelions just keep popping up, the lawn keeps growing and the paint keeps peeling. But I’ve got a ‘guy’ now.

That is the best thing about living in a small town for a long time.  You have a ‘guy’ (or gal) for everything.  No matter if you are fixing something or buying insurance, painting the house or cutting the lawn, you have a guy, a sort of friend, who has always taken care of it for you.  He doesn’t overcharge you or blow smoke up your ass, he just does the job at a good price.   And if they have questions on hydrology or engineering, water, rivers or dams, I help them out.  I’m their guy.  It’s a specialized society, particularly in a small town.  I’ve got a guy who tunes my bike and a guy who tunes my skis, a guy that designed my house and one who built it, an electrician and a plumber.  It takes a town.  I love those guys.

Every time I go out for an errand, I run into a ‘guy’ or friend or a casual acquaintance, chat them up and feel connected.  Maybe its my old stockbroker from high school who lives down the block or my real estate ski buddy, my old dentist’s dentist son, or my eye doctor who grew up with a friend of a friend.  Then there are my urologist, neurologist, pulmonologist and physical therapy gals or our Gold medalist orthopedic or freestyle filmmaker, snowboard champion.  This town is full of  laid back, over-achieving individuals that add value and contribute.   We are all friends.

 That’s what makes small towns so attractive and this town so exceptional.  We need to cherish and respect each other and our specialties for the total value gained is greater than the sum of our individual expertise and efforts.  We collectively make this town great.  That’s why I still walk down the street and say 'hey' to everyone.  They are my ‘guys and gals’.

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Good, Old Park City

 

Park City evolved in waves over the past 50 years, from a hip little ski town to the international destination-resort it is today.  We weren’t Mork and Mindy, Rocky Mountain High glitz like Colorado.  We were the sleepy, edgy, underachiever, off the radar, on the fringe - in Utah of all places.  People were afraid of the Utonian natives and thought you could not buy a coffee or have drink here. But we knew better. We loved it.  We called it home.

Our early town moto could be found on the back of icon Ira Sac’s business card, – ‘Be More, Appear Less’.  We grew better when we grew slowly.  That lasted only so long in spite of the admirable development protests of CARG and other dedicated citizens chained to bulldozers.  Some of us remember the water wars; days of dry tanks, rationing, water moratoriums and massive lawsuits.  So, we threw a lot of money at that and solved the problem by coordinating, regionalizing and pumping our water from the Weber River.  Water flows uphill, towards money.

We also remember the two-lane highways that flowed gently into town, with no traffic or traffic lights in Summit or Wasatch Counties.  Then one day we woke up and 224 was as wide as an airport runway with ten traffic lights and a roundabout between I-80 and Deer Valley.  Then there was a traffic calming flower box planted in the middle of 248 that alternatively proclaimed our resistance to building big roads that would increase our traffic.  If you build it, they will come.  Traffic flows towards money.

We built parking lots in Old Town and paved Guardsman Road to plough more cars into our residential, historical districts.  We contracted paid parking on Main Street while developing two bus systems and building unobtainable satellite park-and-ride lots.  Powder days and weekends saw gridlock along with Sundance, Arts Fest, and summer weekends with multiple events.  ‘You can’t get there from here’ became the new refrain.  You can’t buy your way out of a traffic jam.

But Park City still doesn’t suck.  We now have 500 miles of trails, 3 interconnected ski resort bases, endless (but inaccessible) backcountry, a free bus system, relatively low taxes and excellent services.  We host THE major international film festival and A highly respected arts festival.  There is always; music, theatre, culture, coordinated philanthropy and social justice.  And let’s not mention that we still have a sense of humor, a sense of place and a sense of who we are.  

So, where do we go from here.  How can we save the Golden Goose or is growth like a shark that dies if it stops.  Do we want to become another Aspenized ghost town of second homes?  How do we save ourselves from industrial-corporate skiing, big development or our government’s own entanglements and ambitions?   Can we solve the Chambers popularity progression or endless development de-evolution, to save the soul and spirit that made this town?  Or do we do what humans have always done; move on to the next great place and ruin that? 

I, for one, still have faith in our evolution away from those original, opportunistic interlopers who took the money and ran, moving rather towards the stickers and stayers of today, the people who value our collective standard of living and local quality of life more than the almighty dollar.  But money changes everything.  Now that we are all home-equity millionaires, it depends on our own avarice and greed, resolve and resolution, voice and action, leadership and public participation.   Don’t follow the money this year, follow the community, the committed, the local values and the love of this place we call home. 

Our Town

Iris DeMent

And you know the sun's setting fast

And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts

Go on now and kiss it goodbye

But hold on to your lover 'cause your heart's bound to die

Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town

Can't you see the sun's setting down on our town, on our town

Goodnight

Up the street, beside that red neon light

That's where I met my baby on one hot summer night

He was the 'tender and I ordered the beer

It's been forty years and I'm still sitting here

Here I had my babies and I had my first kiss

I've walked down Main Street in the cold morning mist

Over there is where I bought my first car

It turned over once but then it never went far

I buried my mama and I buried my pa

They sleep up the street beside that pretty brick wall

I bring 'em flowers about every day

But I just gotta cry when I think what they'd say

Now I sit on the porch and watch the lightning bugs fly

But I can't see too good, I got tears in my eyes

I'm leaving tomorrow but I don't wanna go

I love you, my town, you'll always live in my soul

But I can see the sun's setting fast

And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts

Well. go on, I gotta kiss you goodbye

But I'll hold on to my lover 'cause my heart's 'bout to die

Go on now and say goodbye to my town, to my town

I can see the sun has gone down on my town, on my town

Goodnight

Goodnight

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