Main Entry: out·law
(noun) one that is unconventional or rebellious
Used to be, being labeled an outlaw made normal Western folk cringe. Nowadays, it don’t have the same effect. But those Old Outlaws live on in ski towns across the West. Paying for lodging is worse than choking down a six pack of Smirnoff Ice so a group of us decided we would do something about it. We bought a couple motorhomes from the 1970s. No more hotels. No more wasting our money. We would stay in the parking lot for free. We had become Old Outlaws.
Lost Trail Powder Mountain is a three hour drive, a day trip if you don’t have the coin to spend the night. Unless you happen to have a house on wheels. We waited until a big old fashioned powder storm blanketed the mountain, then rustled up the posse and crashed for the weekend in the parking lot. We got some tips for you wannabe outlaws — if you want them, which you won’t if you’re really an Old Outlaw.
If you want to be an Old Outlaw, you have to bring a ton of shitty beer. And be ready to shotgun those beers because sipping is for namby pambys who stay in hotels. And get a cheap RV. You don’t want to be the guy with the motorhome that costs more than your house. Make friends with your parking lot neighbors (there’s plenty of them hiding out here), or you’ll end up in a shoot out over who has the better party.
If you aren’t causing a ruckus by spinning cookies in the motorhome, you’re not ready to be an Old Outlaw.
In the end, the Old Outlaws of the West died a lonely death, but the Old Outlaws of ski parking lots will live on forever (or until there is no more free skier parking). Because not everybody wants to fork over hundreds of dollars to stay in a crappy motel.
Ride on Outlaws, ride on.