Finally, he picked up the phone.
“Don’t sign a new ski contract!” I shouted.
“So…” he started.
“Yes!” I interrupted.
“The others?” he wondered.
“Onboard,” I confirmed.
“So we’re doing it?” he asked just because he wanted to hear me say it.
“We’re doing it,” I said just because I knew he wanted to hear me say it. “Sunday, eleven o’clock, the usual spot.” I continued and hung up.
“Can we open up a window or something?”
The office was tiny but we were used to squeezing.
The conversation was about how. And why. Anyone could, in theory, make skis. So why were we?
“We have to make better skis, the best skis, the skis we’ve always wanted to ski” was one answer.
“I won’t do it unless we’re one hundred percent dedicated to make it as sustainable as we possibly can” was another.
Everyone nodded along in agreement. But by the third answer the nodding stopped.
“But we can’t just make skis. Skiing has never been about skis. It’s about the culture. Our culture, the culture we grew up in. We owe it so much and we have to try and give back to it and keep it growing, evolving and stuff.”
The nodding stopped because it had turned into something else. A sort of headbanging. Violent, euphoric, f**k-yeah-that’s-right headbanging.
Epilogue
We didn't have a name that day, but that’s when the ski company 1000 was born. Or 1000 the culture company if you will. Because while we work harder then we’ve ever worked to make the skis we’ve always wanted to ski, the real reason we’re doing this is to take over an industry run by big corporations and give back the power to the ones who truly keep it alive. The skiers.
So, whenever there’s a decision to make there’s one thing that echoes in the back of our minds. A lodestar, a motto, a rule that helps us stay on the right track.
Keep the culture moving.