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Pique n' your interest

Visiting Apex, realizing more about Whistler

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There’s nothing worse than driving out of town in the middle of a snowstorm.

Well, perhaps there’s one thing that’s worse – driving out of town in the middle of a snowstorm and heading to another ski resort where it isn’t snowing.

As chance would have it that’s exactly what I was doing last Thursday night.

Our friends had already left earlier that afternoon, the chalet was booked and paid for, the time away from work was arranged. There was no turning back.

We were going to Apex that evening even if it dumped 46 more centimetres in Whistler or not.

So the journey began amid the swirling snow.

With each passing northbound car I genuinely tried not to seethe in envy over the weekend warriors coming to poach our fresh lines. I tried to think positively.

After all, I got the 46 cm the week before. I got the 25 cm on Christmas Day. I’ve got about 25 days under my belt so far. I hardly have any cause to complain. Then again, when you miss fresh powder you always have just cause to complain.

That night we only made it as far as Princeton, about an hour and a half shy of our final destination in Apex.

The next morning the first thing my boyfriend did, before he even rolled out of bed, was grab his cell phone and call the Snowphone. We were a good 400 kilometres away from Whistler so it didn’t really matter one way or another how much snow had fallen at home. And yet there was still this overwhelming urge to find out just how much snow we were missing.

"Fifteen fresh centimetres," he said to me bleakly.

Days like that are few and far between so you can appreciate the pain of being so far away.

But we had made to pact in the car to forget Whistler for the weekend and have fun no matter what in Apex.

Still in bed, he grabbed the remote control and flicked on to the weather station.

"No new snow for Penticton this weekend," he said even more morosely.

It’s amazing how obsessed with the weather you can get when it comes to fresh powder.

I think that even if we were vacationing in Mexico, my boyfriend would still call the Snowphone and report the daily weather conditions at Whistler-Blackcomb.

And so it was with heavy hearts that we packed our bags and continued on our journey east, trying not to think about the CBC trees or Khyber’s or anywhere else back home.

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