It’s been a decade now since I’ve lived in the Park and, although it doesn’t matter to the residents there now, I do enjoy coming back on occasion as it sparks wonderful memories of my 17 or so years there.
I can remember when skiing was dangerous and sex was safe in Park City.
I remember standing at the 1500 level, waiting for a cage at the end of my shift.
I remember calling "fire in the hole" over the resort two-way radios.
I remember Wayne "Putt-Putt" Putman playing one of the rodeo clowns at Ernie’s bar-wars rodeo.
I remember happy hour at The Club (barely).
I remember knowing almost everyone in town (and them knowing me).
I remember going to Art’s Hardware just to hear him talk.
I remember Phil Jones making us change the name of "Cocaine Alley."
I remember the street dances in front of the post office on Main Street.
I remember hearing that Bicycle Jack had frozen to death in his home.
I remember the third floor in the Claimjumper and what happened up there.
I remember almost everyone working two or three jobs just to be able to live in P.C.
I remember getting laid off at the mine and it closing for good.
I remember the Alamo.
I remember hearing there was a "10-69" in progress on the resort radio (sex in a gondola cabin).
I remember writing some pretty passionate letters to the editor of this paper.
I remember helping to establish some of the town’s mountain bike trails.
I remember many of the nicknames people had Ski-boy, Waterbed, Slick, Cool, Schmitty, Biggie, The Dude, Cowboy and so on and so forth.
I remember when all the rugby players lived in town.
I remember the dynamite salute on the Fourth of July and Miners Day coming from the top of the Aerie and being done by miners.
I remember hiking to Bald Mountain and skiing the powder on my skinny skis.
I remember no traffic lights.
I remember the only thing between Kimball Junction and Salt Lake was two dozen homes in Summit Park.
I remember when Sundance was The United States Film and Video Festival — and I remember when you could get tickets.
I remember when there was employee housing.
I remember Easy Street really being Easy Street.
I remember hoping that summer in the Park would never be discovered.
I remember when the Fourth of July parade had 12 "floats" and 150 spectators.
I remember Park City being this little Podunk town that I loved more than any other place I had ever been.
Someone very famous once said, "Thanks for the memories" and I sure do want to thank my old town for all the great memories, and wish everyone a happy and relaxed New Year.
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“History buffs will tell you that Park City suffered many devastating fires fanned by canyon winds,” writes Andrea Barros. “It could happen again if we do not reduce wildfire fuel.”