Lately I’ve noticed many folks, skis strapped to their backpacks, wandering the streets and trails with looks of desperation tinged with excitement. Teachers, doctors, lawyers, construction workers and others stare at the mountains, whispering manically. Late one night on North Douglas, I stumbled onto the scene of some sort of pagan ritual. Men, women and children — all dressed like they were going skiing — chanted and danced wildly with ski poles around a bonfire. I’m pretty sure I saw a goat tied to a tree nearby.