YOU KNOW you are inside the Bohemian Grove when you come down a trail in the woods and hear piano music from amid a group of tents and then round a bend to see a man with a beer in one hand and his penis in the other, urinating into the bushes.
“My name is Karoline Conradi Øksnevad,” she said, the words devoid of much inflection. But then, with greater emphasis: “You don’t know me. I am both no one and everyone.”
There were articles about backcountry skiing on those pages. Or rather, upon closer examination, a series of screeds. Here was a rant about initiating an early "lead change" to carve the perfect telemark turn, and another about how to lay down the perfect skin track