Pete and I are like two sides of a very strange coin. He has stories of ski bum exploits that easily match mine: Seasons in Chamonix, Red Mountain. Months sustained on nothing but 5-cent donuts and cheap booze. Winters spent in a trailer park. It's some high quality ski bum pedigree.

But now he's a respectable man with a job and a family and a house and clean towels and all kinds of things I don't really understand. And his friends have followed the same path. Those same guys who scrounged for firewood to keep their trailer warm are now professionals with partners and kids and repayment plans.

So what happens to your inner ski bum when you settle down and get serious about building a proper life? Does the joy of blue skies and powder days and being in the mountains really fade?