Good Clean Fun  Sundance Ski Area  Lunch Somebody was calling it
'Ocean View.'  I popped open a Mr. Pibb and tore into a sports
bar. Bill stuffed a gob of philly sandwich into his mouth, let
some drip onto the napkin tucked into his shirt, then sat back
and took in the view. It did indeed seem as though the world
below us was a wavy ocean. Massive white waves rose silently,
arched, and settled back down as another rose next to it. The
waves lapped up along the mountainsides in spray, like spray
laps up against Big Sur on angry days.  I set my Mr. Pibb down
in the snow. Bill scarfed down some more sandwich. The ocean
swayed and mellowed as the sun shone. Silently we threw our
trash away and stepped back over to our gear. I put my skis on
and Bill snapped his board on. We stood for a few more minutes,
looking down.  The ocean was in fact water, though you couldn't
really drink it. It was pea soup fog hugging the valley bottoms.
Down in Utah Valley, 4,000 feet below us, you had to drive with
your headlights on a