Sex in the (Ski) City

Illustrations by Greg Vannoy

The single scene of snow country as seen from many perspectives, including that of an aging male ski bum, a divorcee on South Shore and a young "hottie" at Squaw. Can a TV sitcom be far behind?

The Odds and Ends of Singledom

by Robert Frohlich

Once, being a never- married, middle-aged male ski bum was considered a pretty good gig. Instead of becoming part of the food chain, one unfurled the Jolly Roger. Instead of capitulating to the budding need of peers for ritual, one ran with the wolves. There were the true romantic role models: the sophisticated Henry Higgins; the dashing James Bond; that all-time single good guy, Superman.

But when I stood with good friends of mine from San Francisco this winter atop salted white cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean and watched them get married, handsome as matinee idols, I felt like the Last of the Mohicans.

A startling percentage of my urban friends are married, with children. They live in a different world from mine. In that world, I am not the rugged individualist of a mountain town, but a figure of pity, perhaps dysfunctional somehow, certainly emotionally stunted or sexually immature, maybe even a woman hater. In any case, surely there must be something wrong with me. Not at all: I just live at Lake Tahoe.

"I was visiting friends in San Diego," recalls Dave Wilderotter, 50, a lifelong bachelor and 25-year resident of Tahoe's North Shore. "It was a Disneyland of women. At Tahoe, I just don't recall a lot of times where girls asked you to dance or bought you a drink." Wilderotter, the popular owner of a chain of North Shore ski shops, freely admits that he was placing his energy on his business back when his friends were starting families. But he points to the seemingly insurmountable odds, a favorite lament of local bachelors, as the underlining reason for his singledom: "I'd say we outnumber them probably four to one."

The truth is likely closer to two to one. While the 2000 Census population of Tahoe showed only a slight male predominance (South Lake Tahoe, for example was roughly 52 percent male and 48 percent female), those numbers include married females and children. But take a gander at slices of the active single adult population, perhaps best reflected in the action sports that tend to draw this demographic to The Lake, and a more lopsided picture emerges. According to the National Ski Areas Association, the male/female split remains 63 percent male and 37 percent female. Men comprise 70 percent of participants who will ski or snowboard 30 or more times in a season. These are comparable to nationwide surveys of outdoor sports in general.

Of Wilderotter's 120 employees, 85 are men. Squaw Valley Ski Corp. employs only 30 percent women while Northstar-at-Tahoe is much higher at 38 percent. Industries that typically employ more women, such as restaurants, have similar ratios, while other local industries, like construction, are 90 percent or more male.

But if women have the odds so much in their favor, why don't they seem to be happier about it? While most Tahoe women don't complain that they can't find a date, they just can't find anybody who interests them. A widespread belief among women is that the native ski bum, though fit and trim, has neither the inclination nor nature for romance. Wilderotter, for one, is the first to admit that he doesn't have the time for courtship. "There's so much going on in Tahoe," he says, "that the time for courtship isn't at the top of the list."

"Finding an ambitious, career-oriented single guy in Tahoe is a lot like finding water in a desert," says Nicole Belt, 27, the Public Relations Director for Northstar-at-Tahoe. "Usually, when you think you've found one, you discover he's just a mirage. I spent four years being single in Tahoe and I'd never had a problem finding a decent boyfriend until I moved here. Every time I thought I met a decent guy it was always short-lived, because he either (a) had no car, (b) had a car but wasn't insured, (c) collected unemployment in the summertime, (d) thought that having a girlfriend cut into their precious skiing/snowboarding time, or (e) got stoned and forgot to call."

Belt, now happily living with a man whom she met in San Diego, broadly assesses, "I admire all of the single girls at Tahoe because it takes skill and patience to date in this town." Incline Village's Deb Darby, single in snow country for ten years since the breakup of her marriage, has found much of what she's looking for in the mountains, except a partner. Attractive, active and successful, in her early forties she sings of the lack of professional career people at Tahoe that are single.

"I feel younger than at 35, and I'm more active now, but I'll go to a bar and feel out of place and old," she says. "The majority of single men are young. For many, living at Tahoe is an interim time in their life. Relationships are short-term. However, the dating scene doesn't have to be humiliating. I've met a few fun dates at wine tastings, on the chairlift and at business meetings. I'd like to think if something is meant to be, it will happen. I'm still waiting."

All this whining about being single in paradise might be interpreted as the sour grapes of an aging ski bum whose salad days are wilting into compost. And maybe that's true. There can hardly be a better place to be footloose than in these spectacular mountains. Yet even under the cobalt-colored skies and snow-mantled slopes, there dwells that healthy and universal yearning—people need people, and love remains an important part of our spirit. May that sweet object of my desire, this week, think the same way.

Meanwhile, at Lake Tahoe, I swoon.

Solidly Single in South Shore

By Joy Keyes

I've heard it a thousand times: my out-of-the-area friends, single or married, singing the praises of how lucky I am to be living single at South Lake Tahoe. And most of the time I would have to agree. It can be the perfectly glamorous life—the most beautiful of places plus healthy, active people, mixed up together with a rowdy nightlife, big name entertainment and fabulous restaurants. It is really all so romantic.

Except when it's not. Truth is, being single and desiring to stay that way is the true path to happiness here. Of course, there's always the hope for new blood on the weekends, when nearly half of the population is "just visiting." But if you've lived in the South Shore for any length of time, you may have already dated every "eligible" in town.

When I moved to the South Shore twelve years ago, I was told, "There are seven men for every woman in this town." What a ratio, I thought! But then later I was told the truth: Yes, the odds are good, but the goods are odd. My advice? Make sure that your date has a job and a car of his own; most already have their own dogs.

And forget about what you've heard about waiting for love to find you. Good things come to those who wade through the bad things with courage and persistence. When you're single here, nobody really notices if you are out by yourself. Whether it's a dinner out, a movie, a local pub or a lift line, we don't have a problem standing alone. This town is a Mecca for independent individuals doing the things that they want to be doing all by themselves. The necessity to run in a pack is left to the twenty-somethings.

Of course, bringing one good friend always guarantees conversation. Just don't commiserate about the pitfalls of being single; voices carry. Instead, place bets on whether that great-looking guy in the corner is married or not. As a side note, wedding rings tend to be one of the most-listed "lost and found" items in our local newspaper.

South Tahoe is truly a great place to be single at night, from the glittering casino corridor with its five different dance venues to the quieter social venues where you can chat over a glass of wine. There are enough locations to visit that you can go nearly a month without hitting the same place twice.

Carousing the night spots is not the only way to meet men, of course. Adult education or auditing classes at Lake Tahoe Community College give a single person newfound hope of intelligent life outside of the standard social scenes.

And being a cosmopolitan kind of girl, I had to try Internet dating. My incredibly busy, professional, metro-trendy friends all recommended it. I'll admit my mother's voice drummed in my ear, "Who knows what they might be lying about? They could be a serial killer!" But it had worked out very well for one of my friends, now planning her wedding, so I figured, why not?

One of the e-mails was from a very articulate professional from the Bay Area who loves to ski. It sounded promising. We corresponded for two months and then agreed to meet for a ski day and dinner. Having only pictures to guide me, I soon realized that the six foot, six inch frame standing outside of my SUV dressed in a too-tight Columbia ski suit was, in fact, not the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, but indeed my date for the day. Turns out his Internet photo was eight years old.

It was a trying day to say the least. I knew that I was in trouble when he showed me how to make a pizza and french fries... with his skis. I only hoped that he was too worn down for our dinner date. No such luck; big men have big appetites. To speed things along, I provoked opposing views on religion and politics. Somehow we lost touch after that night. If I chance the Internet again, I'll ask really, really specific questions.

Married to the Mountain

by Brit Flanigan

One familiar subspecies of Tahoe singles are those who place the ardent pursuit of one, two or ten recreational activities above their pursuit for love. At least for this stage of their lives, they prefer being married to the mountain. But in Tahoe, there would appear to be a lot of people unwilling, or unable, to ever break the relationship off.

"There's a sizeable population of chronically single people up here," says Dr. Rolf M. Godon, "who aren't very successful with relationships because of their relationship with other activities." Godon is a licensed Truckee psychologist whose practice has focused primarily on relationships for over ten years. "It's like having an addiction to alcohol. The person's real primary relationship is with other stuff, be it skiing, partying or golfing."

For the population of singles who are into the athletic Tahoe lifestyle, the perfect mate often means the perfect "playmate," says Godon. "This certainly puts the odds in a narrower perspective. However, I've noticed in the years of being here that more and more women are very athletic."

But there's more to lasting romance than the ability to keep up on a powder day, isn't there? "What usually tends to happen," says Godon, "is that women shift their priorities. They want more relationship energy besides just playing on the mountain. Men are less inclined to make that shift. Women tend to move toward a normal lifestyle, while the part of the male population that we're talking about is working just enough to support their athletic and social habits."

What are Godon's suggestions for males, or females, who can't let go of the mountain? "The party doesn't have to be over," he says. "You don't have to give up your life and become the guy mowing the lawn. Just take a close look at your commitments and lifestyle and decide what you're willing to do to have romance. Then communicate clearly with your partner. A partner should be able to say, 'A powder day is the biggest rush in the world, and I don't want to take that away from you, so go for it.' As long as things are working in other parts of the relationship, these sorts of things shouldn't cause undue stress."

Lamenting the "Hottie" Life

by Nicole Dreon

You're a single woman in North Tahoe, twenty-something, and this is your life: Years ago you packed your bags and headed to the mountains to spend a season in Tahoe. One season goes by, then two, and so on. At any one time, you've held down a minimum of three jobs ranging from glorified yard girl to liftie to permanently indentured food servant. Yup, there you are with your college degree, slinging hamburgers and wondering at what point your name has been changed to "Excuse me, miss?"

Then somewhere in between your fourth and fifth ski season (you finally have night shifts at the Bridgetender), your best friend on the East Coast marries an investment banker and your college roommate sends you an invitation with a stork on the front. Meanwhile you've lowered your dating criteria to include the disclaimer: "Prospective rogue must link full sentences together." And just about then you meet "Rockstar" at Pierce Street Annex in Tahoe City.

From across the room, Rockstar had the feigned confidence of a true Tahoe alpha male—you know, the kind that drives a big Ford pickup loaded down with signature skis, climbing gear, kayaks and wakeboards. You make eye contact, but then he ignores you on his way to the bathroom. One hour later on the dance floor you feel Rockstar's hand on the small of your back. "Babe," he whispers in your ear. "Babe, I think you're hot." He claims you, and he doesn't even know your name.

The bartender hollers, "Last call," and you scour the room for your wingman. You have promised three different people you'll go wakeboarding in the a.m., and then Rockstar stops you before you beeline for a cab. "Babe," he says and pulls out his cell phone, "I'll totally call you."

One week and no phone call later, you catch Rockstar manhandling melons in the produce section of Safeway. "Noel," he exclaims. "I totally lost your phone number."

"Babe," you remind him, "it's Michelle, and now you've totally lost your turn."

You go home and there are three messages on your machine from Rockstar, which you delete. He tells his roommates that you weren't hot anyway. "Chicks here have it made," he claims bitterly. And they all chirp in agreement, "If you are big, fat, ugly and mean, come to Tahoe and you'll be a queen."

Aaah, North Tahoe for the young—a transient community of risk takers whose mating rituals are dictated by the changing seasons and the tall mountains. Here, a man will summit one mountain peak only to forget about it in his quest for another; his girlfriend will head to Chile in April only to come home and pack for Japan in the fall. Wanderlust transcends the whole dating protocol. Why settle for a beautiful class V kayaker when someone else could be just a little bit better? You don't.

For its relatively small population, the North Shore offers a huge variety of single spots to go fishing. From Truckee to Incline Village, there are over thirty entertainment venues with dancing and music. Squaw Valley alone has 28 bars.

In the ebb and flow of the scene, some find a perch atop the sexual hierarchy and hang on for years. At popular restaurants, for example, the busboy will always get passed over for the bartender, even by the 18-year-old hostess. Who wants more bread when you can have tequila instead?

But while some happily hover in the single scene for years, others miraculously scoop true love out of it. Climber Jen met her soul mate in the KT 22 lift line at Squaw Valley during an epic December powder day. "The singles' line is sure money," she tells you one night. "Or fish taco night at Sunnyside. Cheap food and beer specials—it's a testosterone gold mine."

Sally from the Java Hut chimes in, "Cottonwood on Friday nights—contractor babes, mmm." Driving home later, you pondered why a "ski chick" living in a ski town can't find anyone with similar interests. Has the homogenous pool of good-looking, hard bodies become somehow monotonous, or did traditional ski town romance fall by the wayside with stretch pants and turtlenecks?

Back at the home front, you've just walked through the door when your roommate unloads about her date with the investment banker she met on Match.com. "He wore designer loafers and got his 'Beamer stuck in the berm,'" she complains. "And I don't think he can ski." Her last boyfriend worked night operations at Squaw and didn't have a checking account. "But he could ski," she reminds you, and you don't argue.