Wherever I go, I’m looking for that ineffable thing called soul: in skiing, in music, in people, places, mountain towns. You know it when you see it: a worn-in pair of your mother’s old cowboy boots. Willie Nelson. O’Bannon’s Pub in Telluride circa 1997. The Greek island of Hydra. Old-school ski tricks like the daffy. Soul: You either got it or you don’t. I’m on the hunt.


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