It's the return of the Kool-Aid drinkers. The starry eyed marketeers. Yes, the fractionals.
Never mind that Mammoth has been a graveyard for every "fractional" ownership development since, well, forever. Tyvek paper flaps in the breeze on unfinished fractional homes at Talus on the 10th fairway at Sierra Star. Tanavista, 45 units at The Village pared into "value priced" quarter share fractionals, is still nothing but dirt. It's sales team, once armed with high priced brochures, architectural renderings, and reservation instruments quietly scurried out of town after but a few month's in 2007. Altis, visioned as 24 exclusive slopeside townhomes—fractionalized into 1/7th's priced from the mid $500's—parachuted marketing hot shots in (from where, Tahoe?) just as real estate was poised for it's black diamond plunge. Proud Altis has been reduced to a pair of wholly owned duplexes. And now 80/50, near the Village Gondola, which has been operating on the thin vapor of 54 sold fractions--out of 224--since it first rolled out to much hoopla in 2006, is back.
I know it's back because iStar Financial, the new owner, treated me to lunch. Matt Toomey, the highly regarded chef at the highly regarded Whoa Nellie Deli in Lee Vining, served local agents ceviche, fish tacos, sliders and ceasar salad in one of 80/50's 3 bedroom "residences". Reminded me of the old days. Back when the Ritz team tried to convince us over lamb chops and potatoes lyonnaise that despite tumbling real estate values the Ritz was a different product—uncompromised quality—with a different clientele—rich folk willing to pay the $1400/s.f. tariff. Indeed, the Ritz team was freshly returned from a Southern California blitz where they'd collected another 30 reservations! Reservations from aristocrats begging to be unburdened of their surfeit of cash. The Ritz property was foreclosed on two years later. Pass the chops.
Despite the familiar treats, the 80/50 presentation felt different. It was a somewhat staid affair. Katie Morris representing, iStar Financial, was pregnant and resolute. She and her "dream team" of managers and sales staff would persevere to the end. iStar had the financial clout—38 million square feet of commercial real estate, $12 billion in assets—to see this through. It was a far cry from the Amway-like cheerleading at the original launch where glassy eyed salesfolk got so pumped up on Kool-Aid and testimonials they were ready to jump off the roof supported by nothing but talking points (some did and spent time in veritable traction).
After lunch Elizabeth McGuire, 80/50's sales team leader, gave us a tour. The sun shone brilliantly on the three steamy roof top spas. The March air was crisp and clear. Below us a private sky bridge spanned to the Village Gondola. Inside chromed exercise equipment stood idle, poised for guests. Later the valet smiled and waved as we drove off with our packets of marketing tools.
Back at my office I practiced batting away objections from hypothetical buyers and realized that no one at the luncheon had discussed financials. Try as I would one number kept returning like a meat bee to a bar-be-que, HOA dues. The 3 bedroom fractions are priced at $299,000, the dues run $12,400 per year. An owner is guaranteed 4 weeks annually. That's over $3000 per week in dues. Jeez. Even when you factor in the ability to exchange unused weeks for stays at other Elite Alliance properties (for a $250 fee) it seems impossible to rationalize.
But maybe that's just me. One bedroom fractions are priced at $125,000; 2 bedrooms, at $175,000. For more information give me a call. I've got your Kool-Aid. Grape. Lot's of sugar.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Gran Fondo Sportful
The before,
and after
pictures of my wife Barbara and me at the 131 mile Gran Fondo Sportful bike race through the Dolomites out of Feltre, Italy last summer. Hard to tell but one of us made the podium!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Whistler Auction Averted
According to Reuters creditors agreed to postpone a foreclosure auction scheduled for tomorrow of the Whistler-Blacomb Ski Area, site of this year's winter Olympics alpine events. Fortress Investments which acquired the resort in a 2006 leveraged buyout, missed a $524 million payment due last December on a loan of $1.7 billion. The auction has been reset for February 26. Among the expected bidders, Vail Resorts, whose ski holdings include Vail, Breckenridge, and Heavenly Valley.
Fortunes for Fortress have plunged since its acquisition of Intrawest. Its stock closed at $4.20 today down from around $35 when the purchase of Intrawest was completed. Meanwhile, Joe Houssian, founder and former CEO of Intrawest, escaped with an estimated $133 million profit from the sale of his company's stock to Fortress. He is now a principal in Vancouver, BC based private equity firm, Intracorp Capital. Houssian is also involved in several green energy ventures and the real estate development and management company, Replay.
Fortunes for Fortress have plunged since its acquisition of Intrawest. Its stock closed at $4.20 today down from around $35 when the purchase of Intrawest was completed. Meanwhile, Joe Houssian, founder and former CEO of Intrawest, escaped with an estimated $133 million profit from the sale of his company's stock to Fortress. He is now a principal in Vancouver, BC based private equity firm, Intracorp Capital. Houssian is also involved in several green energy ventures and the real estate development and management company, Replay.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Whistler Could Go on the Auction Block During the Olympics
According to the Toronto Globe and Mail Whistler/Blackomb Ski Area's creditors could put the Canadian resort on the auction block in the middle of this month's Winter Olympics. Fortress Investments, a private equity and hedge fund, acquired the resort in a leveraged buyout of Intrawest in 2006 for a reported $2.8 billion including existing debt. Fortress borrowed $1.7 billion to close the deal. Intrawest/Fortress missed a $524 million payment in December after receiving a 2 month payment extension and its creditors, which include Lehmen Brothers, began foreclosure proceedings.
In 2006, at the time of the acquisition, real estate was nearing its peak. Since then values have plummeted along with real estate sales forcing Intrawest to try to service it's debt through resort operations. An impossible task. As a result Intrawest has been shedding lesser properties to reduce debt in an effort to hang onto key resorts like Whistler, Mont Tremblant and Blue Mountain in Ontario. Among the departed Panorama in B.C., Copper Mountain in Colorado and the Village at Squaw Valley, California. Even the remnants of Intrawest's Mammoth holdings-- two Altis townhomes, one Woodwinds condo and a few Westin units--have been reduced for clearance. Will this be enough to stave off foreclosure? Without major debt restructuring or bankruptcy, probably not. But I think the Games will go on without a hint of disruption.
In 2006, at the time of the acquisition, real estate was nearing its peak. Since then values have plummeted along with real estate sales forcing Intrawest to try to service it's debt through resort operations. An impossible task. As a result Intrawest has been shedding lesser properties to reduce debt in an effort to hang onto key resorts like Whistler, Mont Tremblant and Blue Mountain in Ontario. Among the departed Panorama in B.C., Copper Mountain in Colorado and the Village at Squaw Valley, California. Even the remnants of Intrawest's Mammoth holdings-- two Altis townhomes, one Woodwinds condo and a few Westin units--have been reduced for clearance. Will this be enough to stave off foreclosure? Without major debt restructuring or bankruptcy, probably not. But I think the Games will go on without a hint of disruption.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Six Feet
As of 3:15 pm, Mammoth Mountain Ski Area is reporting 6 feet of new snow in the current storm cycle that began on Sunday night. And it is snowing heavily. Lots of freshies for everyone.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Big Snow
Mammoth is being assaulted by the third in a series of four major snowstorms. Weather services are calling for 2 to 4 additional feet by Thursday afternoon. The fourth storm is predicted to be milder. Snow levels could dip to 4200 feet and affect the Owens Valley and Bishop. Bring your powder skis.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Climbing The Walls: An Open House Primer
I'd rather walk through hot coals in a chicken suit…wearing a sandwich board," Ted, an agent friend of mine, once told me, "than sit an open house."
That sounded a bit overwrought considering we were , at that moment, greedily wolfing down a plate of Angel's onion rings, barbeque sauce and grease slathering our faces like finalists in a rib eating contest.
"Really? Hot coals? Chicken suit? Come on, Ted, a sandwich board?" I asked skeptically, blotting my face with a beach sized bar towel.
Ted nodded. "Any day of the week." He worked a big fistful of rings into his mouth and herded them into the corral of one cheek. "And twithe on Thundays," he added.
My friend's aversion to open houses may be extreme but, as I later discovered, the general sentiment is not.
I don't know one agent who looks forward to sitting houses open. It's like being placed under house arrest for no satisfying reason. You're trapped, isolated and criminally bored. Although open houses are part of the salesman's craft, agents go out of their way to avoid them. They push them to the back of their schedules like stubborn children shoving lima beans to the back of their dinner plates. They make excuses, book root canals, feign insanity
A nagging sort of discomfort commences with the signing process. You catch the flicker of a hostile hand gesture through the glare of a passing car's window while packing your signs with the big arrows across a busy intersection. Sure it could be meant for someone else.
As you anchor one sign to a snow stake with a length of bailing wire the shouted advice to "get a real job" issues from a second car followed by "do you want to get knocked out?"
Guessing that you're the target of these remarks reminds you that people don't like salesmen. Don't trust them. Come to think of it, you're not all that fond of salesmen yourself.
They call at awkward hours hawking credit cards, magazines, and charities. They show up at your door pedaling vacuums, cosmetics and religion. If you give them your name they're harder to shake than last winter's head cold. People need salesmen like they need dentists, mechanics and even lawyers, but they don't like them.
With your signs finally in place, you sprint for the opposite curb chased by a leering fat man squealing toward you in an army green pickup. An "I Brake For Realtors" sticker on the rusted bumper as the truck clatters by. You pretend to weed the sidewalk strip until the coast is clear.
Once safely inside your chosen property, and certain you haven't been followed, you lay out promotional fliers, business cards, real estate magazines. You settle onto the couch and snap on the TV. Then you wait. And wait. And wait some more.
It's the weekend. Outside people are biking, roller blading, throwing frisbees. Laughing. You think about your wife playing tennis in that skimpy little skirt that shows too much thigh. The club pro a tanned, notorious Lothario. But you're stuck. You pace the floor, chain surf TV channels, and shuffle through a stack of old client cards so cold they could ice down a charley horse.
Finally, after waiting for hours, sagging toward a catatonic stupor, you are jolted to life by the electrifying sound of car doors, footsteps. The door bell! You round up your wits and greet the couple with a practiced smile, a fresh business card and crisp full color flier.
Maybe it's the glimmer of interest you detect, or maybe it's just the mind numbing hours of waiting, but suddenly you are filled with enthusiasm. Suddenly, you see virtue in every aspect of every room. How could you have missed it? Yes, look how the bedrooms are laid out, cunningly separated by an intervening hallway! What a brilliant insinuation of privacy. Look!
You become intoxicated with the place, dazzled by its hidden magnificence. You parade your audience from room to room—some rooms twice—trumpeting a litany of attributes, gesticulating wildly like a wino conducting a phantom orchestra. The condo is wonderful, fabulous, perfect! Maybe you should buy the place yourself.
But just as you're about to hold forth on the drywall texture and toilet paper holders something catches your eye. A look on the wife's face. Skepticism? Well, you've seen that before. You can deal with that. No. It's something else. A look of…fear. Why, the wife is cowering behind her husband's shoulder and you notice for the first time they are an older couple. It appears that you've been chasing them. Indeed, you've cornered them in the only bathroom. Have them pinned against the shower door.
Trapped they huddle together, alarm growing on their faces, staring at you as if you're some mugger. Wondering whether to reach for their wallets. The husband sneaks a hand back to test the door.
My god, what are you doing? The prospect of having to coax these sweet old people out of the tub moves you to action. You take a step back. Call up an innocent school boy smile. Ask, "can I add you to my mailing list?"
Relieved they produce pens and scraps of paper scribble names and addresses. "Here," they shove these offerings at you and escape.
Back on the couch you calm yourself. You've got their names. You'll make it right. A nice friendly letter. Maybe a fruitcake or box of chocolates. You read the gum wrapper and ticket stub. 'Harry Herenot' and Doris Donegone'. Perhaps it wasn't their first open house.
As the tortuous hours grind by you phone a friend at another open house.
"Anybody?"
"One pair. A bathroom call. Husband came up for the brochure. 'Thanks a lot,' he said in a big hurry. I hollered after him 'For Pete's sake turn on the fan.' How about you?"
"A couple of names."
"Watching golf?"
"No, Gladiators."
So you wait, watch American Gladiators, glance out the window, think about food, that busing job at McDonalds. Against all odds there is another knock. Now you're ready, poised, reserved. You give this couple a nice tour.
"Just the one bath then?" the wife accuses, clutching her collar to her throat as if to seal out some contagion.
The property flier wilts in you hand. "Yes, you admit sheepishly.
The husband and wife exchange glances and regard you cooly. A note of condescension creeps into their voices. An element of pity.
"Well it's a good sized bath," the husband offers. As if to suggest maybe it was not your fault after all. More like you were the unwitting, yet pathetic, product of inbreeding—close set eyes, feeble intellect, a propensity to drool.
Recovering your professional equilibrium you ask, "Would you like to see something in the area with two baths?"
The couple sprout grins. "Oh no. No, we own a nice two bath unit across the street. But we'll take one of your cards."
It's at this point, with the female gladiators straining at their bungee cords, their impressive busts on the verge of freeing themselves and assaulting someone, the otherwise healthy contestants looking by contrast anemic, steroid deficient, helpless, lashed to their bungees. It's at this point, with the score tied, that you snap your business card from the husband's hand and march the couple to the door.
"There's no need to take my card. It's okay. I understand." Somehow you resist the almost overwhelming impulse to drool.
Turning back to the set you see Vixen (or Voluptua or Vesuvia) wrap her beefy thighs around the dental hygienist from Oklahoma. As they swing out of range of any scoring chance, Vixen pumps her fist in victory and the hygienist goes as limp as a cotton tail in the coils of a gopher snake.
You've had it. Enough is enough. Tomorrow you're going to do something more productive with your life. Tomorrow you're going to hold open a condo with 2 baths.
Then again, maybe you'll just fire up some coals and borrow Ted's chicken suit.
That sounded a bit overwrought considering we were , at that moment, greedily wolfing down a plate of Angel's onion rings, barbeque sauce and grease slathering our faces like finalists in a rib eating contest.
"Really? Hot coals? Chicken suit? Come on, Ted, a sandwich board?" I asked skeptically, blotting my face with a beach sized bar towel.
Ted nodded. "Any day of the week." He worked a big fistful of rings into his mouth and herded them into the corral of one cheek. "And twithe on Thundays," he added.
My friend's aversion to open houses may be extreme but, as I later discovered, the general sentiment is not.
I don't know one agent who looks forward to sitting houses open. It's like being placed under house arrest for no satisfying reason. You're trapped, isolated and criminally bored. Although open houses are part of the salesman's craft, agents go out of their way to avoid them. They push them to the back of their schedules like stubborn children shoving lima beans to the back of their dinner plates. They make excuses, book root canals, feign insanity
A nagging sort of discomfort commences with the signing process. You catch the flicker of a hostile hand gesture through the glare of a passing car's window while packing your signs with the big arrows across a busy intersection. Sure it could be meant for someone else.
As you anchor one sign to a snow stake with a length of bailing wire the shouted advice to "get a real job" issues from a second car followed by "do you want to get knocked out?"
Guessing that you're the target of these remarks reminds you that people don't like salesmen. Don't trust them. Come to think of it, you're not all that fond of salesmen yourself.
They call at awkward hours hawking credit cards, magazines, and charities. They show up at your door pedaling vacuums, cosmetics and religion. If you give them your name they're harder to shake than last winter's head cold. People need salesmen like they need dentists, mechanics and even lawyers, but they don't like them.
With your signs finally in place, you sprint for the opposite curb chased by a leering fat man squealing toward you in an army green pickup. An "I Brake For Realtors" sticker on the rusted bumper as the truck clatters by. You pretend to weed the sidewalk strip until the coast is clear.
Once safely inside your chosen property, and certain you haven't been followed, you lay out promotional fliers, business cards, real estate magazines. You settle onto the couch and snap on the TV. Then you wait. And wait. And wait some more.
It's the weekend. Outside people are biking, roller blading, throwing frisbees. Laughing. You think about your wife playing tennis in that skimpy little skirt that shows too much thigh. The club pro a tanned, notorious Lothario. But you're stuck. You pace the floor, chain surf TV channels, and shuffle through a stack of old client cards so cold they could ice down a charley horse.
Finally, after waiting for hours, sagging toward a catatonic stupor, you are jolted to life by the electrifying sound of car doors, footsteps. The door bell! You round up your wits and greet the couple with a practiced smile, a fresh business card and crisp full color flier.
Maybe it's the glimmer of interest you detect, or maybe it's just the mind numbing hours of waiting, but suddenly you are filled with enthusiasm. Suddenly, you see virtue in every aspect of every room. How could you have missed it? Yes, look how the bedrooms are laid out, cunningly separated by an intervening hallway! What a brilliant insinuation of privacy. Look!
You become intoxicated with the place, dazzled by its hidden magnificence. You parade your audience from room to room—some rooms twice—trumpeting a litany of attributes, gesticulating wildly like a wino conducting a phantom orchestra. The condo is wonderful, fabulous, perfect! Maybe you should buy the place yourself.
But just as you're about to hold forth on the drywall texture and toilet paper holders something catches your eye. A look on the wife's face. Skepticism? Well, you've seen that before. You can deal with that. No. It's something else. A look of…fear. Why, the wife is cowering behind her husband's shoulder and you notice for the first time they are an older couple. It appears that you've been chasing them. Indeed, you've cornered them in the only bathroom. Have them pinned against the shower door.
Trapped they huddle together, alarm growing on their faces, staring at you as if you're some mugger. Wondering whether to reach for their wallets. The husband sneaks a hand back to test the door.
My god, what are you doing? The prospect of having to coax these sweet old people out of the tub moves you to action. You take a step back. Call up an innocent school boy smile. Ask, "can I add you to my mailing list?"
Relieved they produce pens and scraps of paper scribble names and addresses. "Here," they shove these offerings at you and escape.
Back on the couch you calm yourself. You've got their names. You'll make it right. A nice friendly letter. Maybe a fruitcake or box of chocolates. You read the gum wrapper and ticket stub. 'Harry Herenot' and Doris Donegone'. Perhaps it wasn't their first open house.
As the tortuous hours grind by you phone a friend at another open house.
"Anybody?"
"One pair. A bathroom call. Husband came up for the brochure. 'Thanks a lot,' he said in a big hurry. I hollered after him 'For Pete's sake turn on the fan.' How about you?"
"A couple of names."
"Watching golf?"
"No, Gladiators."
So you wait, watch American Gladiators, glance out the window, think about food, that busing job at McDonalds. Against all odds there is another knock. Now you're ready, poised, reserved. You give this couple a nice tour.
"Just the one bath then?" the wife accuses, clutching her collar to her throat as if to seal out some contagion.
The property flier wilts in you hand. "Yes, you admit sheepishly.
The husband and wife exchange glances and regard you cooly. A note of condescension creeps into their voices. An element of pity.
"Well it's a good sized bath," the husband offers. As if to suggest maybe it was not your fault after all. More like you were the unwitting, yet pathetic, product of inbreeding—close set eyes, feeble intellect, a propensity to drool.
Recovering your professional equilibrium you ask, "Would you like to see something in the area with two baths?"
The couple sprout grins. "Oh no. No, we own a nice two bath unit across the street. But we'll take one of your cards."
It's at this point, with the female gladiators straining at their bungee cords, their impressive busts on the verge of freeing themselves and assaulting someone, the otherwise healthy contestants looking by contrast anemic, steroid deficient, helpless, lashed to their bungees. It's at this point, with the score tied, that you snap your business card from the husband's hand and march the couple to the door.
"There's no need to take my card. It's okay. I understand." Somehow you resist the almost overwhelming impulse to drool.
Turning back to the set you see Vixen (or Voluptua or Vesuvia) wrap her beefy thighs around the dental hygienist from Oklahoma. As they swing out of range of any scoring chance, Vixen pumps her fist in victory and the hygienist goes as limp as a cotton tail in the coils of a gopher snake.
You've had it. Enough is enough. Tomorrow you're going to do something more productive with your life. Tomorrow you're going to hold open a condo with 2 baths.
Then again, maybe you'll just fire up some coals and borrow Ted's chicken suit.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Mammoth's Arrested Developments
Since Intrawest successfully launched Juniper Springs Lodge in 1998, new developments have provided the spark to Mammoth's real estate market. But last year, for the second year in a row, no major new projects were launched. Unless reservations for the planned 131 Ritz-Residences continue at a satisfying pace, 2009 could be dry year number three.
Only The Chadmar Group, owners of future Snowcreek developments, is actively building. But work on Creekhouse near the Athletic Club will reportedly stop after the three buildings under construction are completed. Below is an update of projects planned for Mammoth:
Westin Monache--Mammoth's first four star hotel opened on the 27th of November. The 230 unit condo/hotel sold out quickly at prices up to $1200 per square foot in the brisk, speculative market of 2005. When Phase I escrows finally began closing last Fall market conditions had deteriorated and a number of buyers simply walked away from non-refundable 10% deposits. 30 units are back on the market priced from $399,999 in a tightening lending environment.
Ritz-Carlton Residences--Reservations are now being accepted for 131 luxury 1-4 bedroom Ritz Residences planned for the corner of Lake Mary Road and Canyon Boulevard. Roger Staubauch and Cypress Equities paid a reported $53 million for the 6.9 acre site last summer. According to local representatives, reservations are running ahead of expectations following a series of 'meet and greet' events the developer held in Southland locations from Laguna to Santa Barbara in mid-March. Cypress hopes to begin construction of the 1200 to 4000 square foot condo units following a planned late May sales event. Interiors of the residences may be customized by individual buyers. Prices kick off at $1.7 million and reservations may be held with a $10,000 fully refundable deposit. The finished product will be operated as Ritz Residences by Ritz-Carlton Hotels. The "1" Hotel--In 2006 Mammoth Mountain owner, Starwood Capital, announced plans to roll out a new line of 5 star eco-friendly hotels dubbed "1". The first iteration got underway in June of 2007 in downtown Seattle near famed Pike Street Market. Mammoth's version was slated for 2008-2009 in The Village at a site across from White Mountain Lodge. Construction in Seattle has been on hold for six months according to the Seattle Times. Lenders insisted on a redesign of the project that will replace 132 condo/hotel units with 192 traditional hotel rooms. Meanwhile, the Mammoth "1" has fallen off the dance card. Lending standards for condo/hotel properties have tightened up recently due, in part, to heavy speculation in this type of property during the real estate boom. With larger down payments and more rigorous qualifying required "investors" no longer populate the launches of properties classified as condo-hotels.
Eagle Lodge--In 1998 Intrawest used the promise of a new base lodge at Eagle Express to help sell the Juniper Springs Lodge, Sunstone and the Eagle Run condo projects. 10 years later Starwood Capital announced that construction of Eagle Lodge would commence in 2009 and offered up two elevations for the real estate community's approval. One version of the 68 unit condo/hotel featured a nearly flat roof, the other a traditional sloping gable roof. According to assistant town planner, Sandra Moberly, earthwork for the 544 understructure parking will begin next summer. And it will be the traditional gable design. In addition to all skier services from ticket sales and rentals, to ski school and day care the lodge will feature a market, restaurant and ice rink.
Mammoth Crossing--Two years ago the proponents of Mammoth Crossing paid $67 million for three pivotal corners at the intersection of Lake Mary and Minaret Roads. Planned for up to 1020 residential rooms, with street level commercial and parking for 750 cars, this development will determine how the Village advances. Unhappily, Tanavista, the Crossing's first effort, misfired. Despite an "irresistible" sub $300,000 price entry point, the 45 unit quarter share fractional ownership condo project got the hook within weeks of being offered. Like other fractional projects in Mammoth it suffered from a lack of buyer enthusiasm. Undeterred, the developers are forging ahead with a project wide Environmental Impact Statement which should be completed by June according to local project manager Mark Dowd.
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