who is mr. mad river?  indeed.

mmr does not say much--he doesn't have to.
mmr is elusive--he is always in the trees, even and especially on impossible snow.
mmr is not sponsored*--his various skis have been well-seasoned.
mmr does not talk smack--he lets his skis do the talking.
mmr often para-marks.
mmr makes a steep, tight, icy ski-line look like a bunny slope.
mmr is crusty.
mmr does not have an ipod,
nor does he post his exploits online--he writes only his tracks in the snow.
mmr knows every secret line.
mmr does not miss a day.
mmr is everywhere at once--he's an old-school throwback on fat skis. 

there are a variety of mssrsmr out there, and it occurs to me, that jim's fascination with 
him could very well be that the median age or mmr is surely greater than the sum of jj's 
years.  (the john we skied with, btw, was john c.  he's definitely a strong candidate.)

but Mr. Mad River, i think, is a myth.  an ideal for which to strive.  a ducttape 
emblazoned emblem of crusty 'coreness.

jim, incidentally, was most definitely a hero yesterday.  hitting big drops and humming 
through the trees at speed, every time i turned around, he was right there, chanting his 
mantra, "i'm a he-ro!" over and over... until he was.  i kept thinking, "what makes 
jumpin' jim tick?"  it may very well have been pure spite.  every time he charged, and in 
between chants of "i'm a he-ro," he kept saying, "oh yeah, this is todd's (or insert absent 
mrg hero here) powder" and cackling like a mad scientist.  whatever it was, he was on it 


*with, of course, one notable fenchman as the exception

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