It is September, and I haven’t skied in over two months.
As a purist, summertime distractions like kayaking and biking don’t fill the hole skiing leaves behind, so I feed my boss an excuse for a long weekend and drive north. Around 2am, I pull into a curious camping facade outside of Glacier National Park. A dirt road winds through the various glamping sites of fully furnished tipis and Civil War-style canvas tents. At the end of these, a dirty white RV sits among young Fir trees. I see the calm visage of Adrian Dingle through the cab window. Leonard, I assume, is not far prowling the shadowy undergrowth, maintaining his domain’s perimeter.
The all-too-familiar inside of the RV smells of old ski boots and kitty litter. Leonard scratches at the door behind me, and I let the orange feline into his home. Nobody has spent as much time in the RV as Leonard the cat. His litter box hides under one of the kitchen benches and the rig’s frayed interior carpet trim suffices for scratching, keeping Leonard’s claws sharp on downdays. Equipped with a stocked food dispenser and water jug, the cat can hang out in the RV for days while Adrian camps in the high basins and plunders the remaining snow fields.