Not having looked at the weather, I planned on skiing after the boy was in
bed. When I carried my gear to the car, I discovered that it was raining. A
quick check of the radar on the Weather Underground mobile app showed that
it was no better at the mighty home hill, Wachusett. A phone call confirmed
that it was indeed raining at the area.

For a fleeting moment, I was tempted by the call of the tuning bench and a
cold DPA, but no, I needed to ski. Good call.

When I arrived at my usual slope-side parking spot, it did not seem to be
raining. Fellow lift-mates told of a snow squall that had come through
earlier in the evening, and their reports were confirmed by a fresh inch of

I, aboard my Budweiser King of Beers tele rig, enjoyed an evening of fine
skiing, with plenty of soft snow to be had. For the majority of the time,
the only indication of any non-frozen-airborne-water molecules were the
fine deposits on my goggles, but they were not so gross as to significantly
obscure my vision.

Finally, when the partition of my posterior perceived precipitation posited
within, I decided that it was time to call it a night.

—Matt K.

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