I-9

At the center of a community of Vermonters, skiers, snowboarders, vagabonds, tenters, cyclists, partiers, academics, sauna enthusiasts, wakeboarders, sailer's, bums, UVMers, climbers and good people was Ryan Hawks. On March 1, 2011 Ryan died of injuries sustained while skiing on the World Free Skiing Tour. After months of figuring out how to write about Ryan, our friends and what our time together meant, I've decided the only thing to do is start and see where it takes me.


In part to keep a promise I made to myself that I would continue to carry Ryan's spirit I am currently in the process of making a 3,300 mile move from Boston to Portland, OR with my buddy Jason Kroot (another story for another day).


En route I decided to stop in Vail to and go back to Timber Ridge Village - Apartment I-9.

Timber Ridge Village is the employee housing for Vail resorts - it is in essence a college dorm minus the classes or supervision. Think Lord of the Flies with a virtually unlimited supply of mind altering substances. I moved into T-Ridge with Matt and Ryan right after we arrived in Vail and we quickly went about turning it into our own. It was two bed rooms so a bunk bed was constructed in one room while the single was reserved for anyone with lady visitors. The walls were covered with skiers and hot women (sometimes with hot skier women) and we furnished it with a couch stolen from another unit which had become to infested with mold to be considered livable.

The place was shitty to say the least. A hard lean on a wall would result in a hole and there was a special release each tenant had to sign before moving in which mentioned the lethal nature of the black mold that was present in many of the units and which made some buildings illegal to even enter.

Shortly after moving in Matt met Chris Rainesberger - a red headed trouble maker if ever there was one - who was between apartments and moved in with us on the couch. Next door lived two Australians: Kane who was a sous chef and lover of American women and Nadia who was a beautiful blond who'd fled pressures in Australia to try a different pace in Vail. With the, lived a chubby slow talking cook from Texas named Joe.

We were all one big happy drunken family. When Thanksgiving arrived that year, Nadia offered to cook the bird. 15 people wandered over to our house where we had strung together the tables from several units to make a massive feast table. Since we had the skills of two sous chefs and one inspired at play an unthinkably large amount of food was made. Good food. And for a bunch of kids who has been eating little variation from Raman since September it was the best meal we'd ever seen. Since the other 12 attendants to dinner had not cooked we brought booze. By the time dinner was served everyone was was hollering and falling down eager for food and out of their minds. When all was said and done we collapsed in elation. More than a few people woke up the next morning less then 10 feet from the table.

In December our friend Dan left treatment to come and visit. He had nothing going on in his life and Ryan slowly coaxed him over his 5 day visit not to live. So then we had another roommate. A new bunk bed was constructed to allow for additional storage space and a third couch was stole from a mold apartment.

In January the friends arrived in waves. Ben, Rob, Sarah, Caitlin, Hillary, John, Jade, Ryan McD, Matt... At one point there were 10 people living in the house. This combination was topped off by hard breakups, big fights, unhinged partying and the fact that we had to be at work by 5AM every day.

The last time I was in Timber Ridge was on April 19th, 2005. I left in a hurry with Ryan, Matt and Dan feeling like I had worn out my welcome in Vail and was ready to move onto something new. I had been back through Vail once since, but never back to my our old home.

When I arrived back I was stunned by how little had changed. The paint was the same, the stains were the same, the signs with hollow threats of towing were the same. I pulled my car into the spot that I used to fight for with Bessy (the old gray van) next to the stairs and lost my balance the moment I stepped out of the car.

The memories that came flooding back - even the smell of the mold was almost too much to handle.

Up the stairs I went, my legs finding the familiar stride, past the first entrance then up to Unit I-9.

There it stood. There I was. The paint by the door handle still had the marks from 100 break ins we had completed after forgetting keys.

I stood silent. I felt like I was on hollowed ground.