Every November, I wait for the ribbon of fake snow that temporarily adorns the mighty King like a holiday necktie. I heart “the Patch.”

As Snaz World HQ nestles in the King’s shadow, I listen day and night to the snowguns adding cleavage to Old Lady’s Flats. I watch the piles swell then flatten under the snowcats’ treads as they spread the snice. And I wait until that special day when the cats connect the piles and lay down the corderoy. The patch people — much the same, every year — emerge from their dens, hike up the King and get the first townie turns of winter.

(All hail Jim Sullivan, the Snow King Ski Area manager. He lets us hike up the mountain all year, he lets snowgroms build kickers at the base, he races in the Town Downhill, he rips. Jim skis the patch.)

Nothing better to tune up the legs for the season then a few evening laps on the patch. Sometimes the skiing, frankly, is horrible. Punishing. But the worse it gets, the better the training for hellish conditions at the resort, in the park, in the big mountains. Scoff at the patch at your peril.

I wish VP Cheney would come ski the patch with us. Could be good for the ticker. Could be really good. Seems like Dick would take a liking to the patch, since they’re both cold, short, shady, and bulletproof.

The King opens December 1. C’mon on Jim. Crank the guns to 11. We’re running out of time for the patch!