Resort Resurrection

A dystopian vision of Bozeman’s future.

“Hi, are you the mechanic, the one who’s skilled at getting old equipment up and running?”

“One and the same, Will’s my name,” the young fellow said, as he reached out to shake the hand of the old man who greeted him.

“I’m Mike. Good to meet you. The machine is over here.”

Mike and Will walked together from the rutted, dusty remnants of a parking lot past the crumbling foundations of burnt-out buildings to a rusty hulk. Will looked around. “What is—I mean, what was this place?”

“My grandad used to tell me stories about skiing, back when there was still regular snow,” Mike reminisced.

“A ski area,” Mike replied. “I’m 80 and it’s been out of operation since before I was born.”

“A ski area, huh,” Will said, somewhat circumspect. “I’ve seen movies that show people sliding down, what did they call it… snow?”

“My grandad used to tell me stories about skiing, back when there was still regular snow,” Mike reminisced. “In the early 21st century, when he was young, there was enough snow here in winter to slide down the hill. He always had a glint in his eyes when he told me ski stories. Seems it was a thrilling sport.”

“Here?” Will said a bit confounded. “This place is a desert.”

“It didn’t used to be,” Mike replied. “Before the Years of Fire, there were forests and meadows here. There were still some here when I was young, but the fires kept coming until most every tree was gone.”

“You stayed here through it all?”

“Where were we supposed to go? During the Water Wars, the whole world was in turmoil. People killing each other for water, for food, or just for the hell of it.”

“But how did you survive out here?”

The climate is finally starting to cool. We’ve seen some snow here in recent years. There might even be enough snow in the coming years to support some skiing again.

“How did people survive anywhere? Fire takes a random path, driven by the winds of the moment. We lucked out. Lots of fires got close, but the gods were with us. The underground spring we relied on has kept percolating. Generations of our family have been growing crops and raising livestock to stay alive. We did our best to stay hidden from the world. There are a few other families like us out here.”

“Well, you are among the luckier ones.”

“I’ll say; five billion dead,” Mike said as he shook his head at the thought of it. “As you probably learned in school, the wars only abated when there were few enough people that the remaining ones could survive in our compromised climate. But with fewer people and the outlawing of most fossil fuels years ago, the climate is finally starting to cool. We’ve seen some snow here in recent years, way up high on the ridgetop over there. There might even be enough snow in the coming years to support some skiing again. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’d be surprised if people wanted to do something as frivolous as skiing after what they’ve been through,” Will responded.

“Ah, you’ve got that exactly wrong! Because of all they’ve been through, people are desperate for just such a frivolous activity.”

Will allowed that maybe Mike’s years gave him more insight into the human condition than he had himself, and he turned attention to the rusting machine in front of him. “So you want me to get this thing started, huh? What’s it supposed to do?”

“Run skiers up the mountain, so they can slide back down, over and over… that’s my understanding,” replied Mike with a shrug.

Will looked at Mike, then back at the hulking machine, its long cable and towers still in place. Mike sensed that Will wasn’t getting the complete picture, so he pointed to a dilapidated concrete structure some distance away. “You see that old shed? It’s full of chairs that attach to that cable. The skiers sit on the chairs. My grandad explained it to me when I was little. That’s why it’s called a chairlift.”

As Will looked over the machine, he came across a rusty nameplate. He took a rag out of his pocket and rubbed off the rust and dirt, then read it aloud to Mike: “Virginia City.”

“Is there a town nearby? I mean, who’s going to use this “chairlift” if I can get it working?”

“There’s a small village down in the valley, beyond the mouth of the canyon, called “Bozeman.” It burned a few times, but some homes and businesses survived, some others were rebuilt. There used to be an airport nearby, too. If you get this thing going, you may want to see what equipment you can get working out there, too.” Mike hesitated for a moment, then said, “It’s been a long time since anything other than a tumbleweed flew through here.”

As Will looked over the machine, he came across a rusty nameplate. He took a rag out of his pocket and rubbed off the rust and dirt, then read it aloud to Mike: “Virginia City.”

Mike said, “If you look around, there are other chairlifts up here in various states of ruin. The aim is to get just one of them running again. Some sign that we can recover something of the lives people used to live.” With a catch in his voice, Mike finished, “I’d sure like my grandkids to grow up in a different world than the one I grew up in.”

With that, Will got to work.