Good morning groovy people. Good morning, Sugar Poppppp,” Brian Hughes says into his camera phone, making a popping sound as he says, “Pop.”
It’s before dawn on a February morning and Hughes pans his phone camera from the thermometer outside his snowcat back to a Killington ski run. The headlights of the grooming machine light up flakes tumbling from a dark indigo sky. Vivaldi is playing in the background over the soft hum of the engine.
After the pan from one side of the cab to the other, Brian flips the camera around and reveals himself. He is wearing a blue and purple tie-dyed t-shirt, a grey knit cap sits on top of his thick dreadlocks and his salt and pepper beard frames his contented smile.
“So, Saturday. My thermometer’s reading 18 degrees so it’s not bitterly, bitterly cold. It’s not like it’s gonna be in the negatives here but still dress for them. Frostbite is an ever, ever looming presence. Surface conditions are going to be mint. Gonna be really, really good, really edge-able. And we’re getting snow. It’s like a winter wonderland out there. So, come on out and ski.”