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Adventure

Confession: I Snooped Around Ingrid Backstrom's House

Backstrom's pad is full of, well, normal stuff.

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I’m not a voyeur. But it was Ingrid Backstrom’s house. And ever since I watched her slay lines in her first Matchstick flick, I’ve wondered what kind of life she had. So when I picked up a hitchhiker in Squaw Valley who said he was staying at Ingrid’s place while she was out of town and then invited me in for a beer, against my better judgment I said yes. He went upstairs for a minute and left me alone in the living room, sipping on a beer. I couldn’t help myself. I looked around. I didn’t dig through her medicine cabinet, I swear. But I took in the scene. She has a wood stove and a loft. A tiny, funky kitchen with dirty coffee mugs in the sink. A bedroom with an open closet crammed with North Face jackets. There are mountaineering books on the shelves and family photos on the fridge. An altogether normal house. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, maybe remnants of a wild party or walls lined with Völkl prototypes. But there was none of that. I quickly finished my beer and excused myself. I had done what I’d come to do.—name withheld