French Fries, Pizza, Masked Airport Lounge Karens; Alta 2026 — Group I

The BackBlast:

The forecast wasn’t like last year but it was still great. Buoys are WARNING us of more soon.

Anyways, every year, a contingent of F3 Metro men heads west to Alta, Utah — not just to ski, but to invest in making stories that are ultimately unverifiable. One truth worth celebrating, however, is that Checkpoint’s son chose Alta as a wedding venue. Huge congratulations to their family on an incredible milestone and, objectively, a very strong venue selection.

This year’s roster was stacked, including Checkpoint, Slaughter, Valdez, Dredd, Scabbs, Governator, Boba Fett, Coach, Boy Scout, Disney +2.0, Lambeau, Hitman, Owl Bait, Sampson, TD +2.0s, Jacko, Mokey Feet, Spoons, Red Warrior, Cardinale +2.0, Frankie Five Angels, Magellan, Rhapsody +2.0s, Judge Smails +2.0, Italian Job, Santini, Scratch N Win, CrotchRocket, Monk +2.0, Double Play, Tommy Lee, Grasshopper, Sparrow, Bobby Fischer, Newport +2.0, The Other Cold Cuts, and Kato Kaelin +2.0. Wahoo, Frogger, and Holtz did not really show up.

If you were counting, yes — that was a significant concentration of bright arm bands and F3 helmet stickers on one mountain at the same time.

The trip began on Wednesday with Checkpoint leading the early charge while we’re all mentally in Utah mode. Most of the PAX arrived Wednesday evening via direct flights into Salt Lake City before making the classic 40-minute shuttle climb into Alta. Many of these guys do not travel often, so there was an aggressive push for a 9 PM bedtime, which felt optimistic but well intentioned.

On the way into the mountains, there was nearly an F3 ethics violation when Monk was left at baggage claim waiting for his skis while the PAX accidentally kidnapped his 2.0, Double Play. Monk was eventually delivered safely to Goldminer’s via private shuttle along with his valuable set of classic boards. Overall, it was a strong start, and most importantly, no one was lost permanently.

Thursday morning kicked off with rentals, 2.0 ski school drop-offs, and Valdez’s first annual clinic with 18 followers. The Oil Slick’s clinic was open to beginners, men with jobs, and men who like Lindsey Vonn. The instruction likely prevented multiple accidents and successfully warmed up the group.

Conditions delivered three to four inches of fresh snow, which was enough to inspire confidence while still allowing for responsible tree access. By late afternoon, legs were cooked and recovery protocols began. The Goldminer’s spa saw heavy action, while Newport, Bobby Fischer, and Kato Kaelin enjoyed exile at Alta Lodge hot tubs, steam room, and yoga — purely for performance optimization and future site planning.

After dinner, we struck up a nice conversation with a stranger from Boston. I shared how much I liked that town, until about 20 seconds later when the stranger shared they graduated from Harvard. At that point, I remembered I do not miss Boston.

By Friday, the mountain opened up and the groups spread out. Snowbird expeditions launched, Brighton recon missions were completed, and the Alta Java cookie economy was strongly stimulated by Owl Bait and Sampson. For future reference, get the chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate and tip Bailey.

The injury report included Boy Scout experiencing a high-impact knees-to-groin event. The prognosis was walking: yes, skiing: maybe, and IPA therapy: successful.

Our youth skiers once again confirmed a hard truth that adults can get their ski game back. Teenagers never lost it. This might leak to a local large Church’s memo soon.

Bright arm bands were spotted across Sugarloaf and Supreme while multiple PAX honored The Chicken by tackling the legendary one-mile tree run, where reaction time meets humility. Friday night delivered elite Goldminer’s dining and ping pong battles loud enough to concern nearby Dartmouth study groups. The photo went off extremely well, Hitmans long locks blocked out a few of us and the drone got everyone’s best side.

Saturday delivered the Wasatch at its absolute best with bluebird skies and endless terrain. Our yoga instructor’s name was “Earth.” We did not get a last name, and frankly that felt on brand.

The Arm Band Misfits expanded operations into Catherine’s, Devil’s Castle, and Mineral Basin. Vertical feet stacked up, Strava distance stories multiplied, and Team Dakota (Dredd, Coach, Italian Job, Crotch Rocket, Tommy Lee, Santini) even left the groomers. Dredd’s time at Ski Sundown in the Connecticut Alps (also called the Berkshires) paid dividends. Meanwhile, CR and Coach pushed their limits on a ripping and surprisingly soft Catherine run. No one is supposed to know Orlando followed that run with a drone, and the movie is absolutely not on YouTube.

Saturday ended with the group dinner, kicked off by our 2025 2nd F Award Winner Orlando and Dredd’s always classic opening praise and prayer. Roughly $1,000 in tips went to the Goldminer’s staff, and enough revenue likely went to the lodge to cover next year’s chlorine tablet estimate. Meanwhile, Spoons and a few others were already mapping out their plans for J-Hole, making the weekend warriors appropriately jealous.

Sunday morning at 7 AM, the shuttles left the lodge while the Queen City was getting 11 inches of snow. Some of us gathered in the Centurion Lounge while Q Source was reportedly in a cold underground garage somewhere.

At the lounge, Kaelin sat on the edge of an empty couch while an orphaned water bottle sat at the other end. A masked Karen arrived moments later and informed him she did not intend to share her 8 foot long couch with him. He politely moved without making a scene while the rest of us quietly observed her commitment to her screen. Bobby Fischer later stopped by and, for the record, did not drop the Polish Hammer on her.

Trips like Alta remind us what makes F3 Metro special. It is about men showing up, letting Frankie Five Angels, Magellan, Disney, and Governator push your limits, laughing at ourselves, and taking care of each other — even when you’re wearing loose boxers in a hot tub with 10 strangers.

We came home maybe slightly better skiers. TD’s daughters flew home next to the esteemed Red Warrior and now know everything about the Druid City.

Lessons learned, once again, include never leaving Monk at baggage claim, making Valdez Ski School required curriculum, and recognizing that bright arm bands remind us that fellowship isn’t lost on this spinning rock. Aggregate screen time was way down this week.

If you were not there this year, start planning now. If you were there, hydrate, stretch, and start lobbying your M for next year. If you’re there right now, stay till after Valentines day because the powder buoy has a prediction.

Hard commit, Pizza, Utah Beer and Fries out.