First I see a mom and her two daughters tracing perfect S curves, dressed in sleek North Face soft shells and woven beanies. Nearby, teens rocket out of the terrain park, pulling 360s. Around a bend I see the Carhartt brigade, decked out in camo hats, orange hunting vests, and welding goggles. A dude on a snowboard whizzes by in a gorilla suit. St. Louis Cardinals jerseys are ubiquitous.

In the distance stands not a ridge of jagged peaks but St. Louis鈥� Gateway Arch. Astonishingly, I鈥檓 carving man-made corduroy at mountain, in Wildwood, Missouri鈥攚hich, at elevation 860, offers a grand total of 310 vertical feet.

My guide is 24-year-old ski patroller Dan Arnold, a clean-cut Missouri native wearing black-frame glasses and a weathered baseball cap. Arnold is touting Hidden Valley鈥檚 night skiing, which includes red-eye runs till 3 a.m.. on Fridays and Saturdays. 鈥淚t鈥檚 beautiful up here,鈥� he says, 鈥渆specially at night with the view of the city lights.鈥�

We ski over a well-groomed run not far from a metal shed where families refuel on nachos, chicken strips, and a St. Louis original: toasted ravioli. Our next stop is the patrollers鈥� hut, which houses zero woolly-faced, wind-burned ski bums. The safety squad here is comprised mostly of middle-age professionals, including a fireman with mutton chops, a nurse, and Beale Luebben, 51, who works for a home-inspection firm by day. She returned home to Missouri in 1995, after living in Park City, Utah, for four years.

鈥淲hen I moved back, I did the snobby thing and said, 鈥業 don鈥檛 ski at Hidden Valley,鈥欌€� says Luebben. 鈥淭hen I finally did and thought, Why haven鈥檛 I been coming here? It鈥檚 so much fun.鈥�

IT ALL SEEMS SO small, friendly, and Midwestern, but Hidden Valley, with its 19 average inches of snowfall per year, is home to one of the ski industry鈥檚 most rapidly expanding companies. Missouri entrepreneur Tim Boyd opened Hidden Valley 30 years ago, and now , Boyd鈥檚 firm, operates a total of 12 ski areas, the most in the country. The newest, in Pinkham Notch, New Hampshire, was acquired in October 2010. That winter, some 1.8 million skiers visited Peak Resorts properties, and the company recorded $98 million in revenue, ranking it among the nation鈥檚 top five ski outfits in both categories. It may soon go public, with Boyd considering a $100 million IPO. And here鈥檚 the really surprising thing: Boyd doesn鈥檛 even ski, treating his business less as a labor of love than as a money-churning chain. Think Ramada on snow.

鈥淚 never really have liked skiing, but I鈥檓 passionate about the ski business,鈥� Boyd, a trim 60-year-old with close-cropped gray hair, tells me while seated in his office, a converted two-story A-frame house overlooking Hidden Valley. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 better. My decisions are more pragmatic and less emotional.鈥�

鈥淔ew in this industry think of someone coming from St. Louis and building a ski company like Tim has,鈥� says Michael Berry, president of the National Ski Areas Association. 鈥淗e has a relaxed demeanor, but underneath he is intensely competitive.鈥�

It all started on a wet, wretched day in Lake Tahoe, California, in 1978, on Boyd鈥檚 first ski trip. At 26, he was the proud owner of a struggling nine-hole golf course at Hidden Valley, which he鈥檇 bought right out of college for $250,000. As he carved his first turns at tiny Homewood Mountain, rain poured down.

鈥淲e had a miserable day,鈥� says Boyd. But he noticed that thousands of people were still clamoring to ski. On their flight home, Boyd told his wife, Missi, 鈥淲e have a hill about as big as that at Hidden Valley, and we have plenty of rain.鈥�

When Boyd proposed his plan to clear the hillside above the golf course and install a chairlift, bankers across St. Louis laughed him out of their offices. When he landed a $1.1 million loan through a county industrial revenue bond, skeptics characterized the project as a boondoggle. A rival executive with Ralston Purina, which at the time owned Colorado鈥檚 , told one of Boyd鈥檚 ski instructors: 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 have a chance in hell. This is the most idiotic idea ever.鈥�

In December 1982, Hidden Valley ski area opened to the public. On the first day, Boyd had the snowmaking capacity to blanket only one run. Still, 1,000 people showed up. During its inaugural winter, Hidden Valley hosted 30,000 skiers and generated $750,000 in revenue. Encouraged by the results, Boyd looked west and in 1986 developed a similar ski area outside Kansas City, . In 1997 he bought Paoli Peaks in southern Indiana and incorporated the three areas as Peak Resorts. 鈥淥nce we got our third ski area,鈥� Boyd says, 鈥淚 began to look at it as a franchise.鈥� Before long, Boyd was expanding into Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, and Vermont. He closed Hidden Valley鈥檚 golf course in 2008; during the 2010鈥�11 ski season, the area made $3.6 million.

THIS APPROACH鈥擬ETHODICAL, DISINTERESTED in the spirit of the sport鈥攊s the key to Boyd鈥檚 success. He often steps into markets where he encounters no local competition. Operating multiple resorts lets him push suppliers for better deals. It has helped him test and implement cost- and time-saving processes, such as self-service boot rentals and multiguest waiver forms. It also makes Boyd an outlier in the insular ski world.

鈥淢ost of the ski-area business has already lost its soul. It鈥檚 been run by golfers for the past couple of decades,鈥� says Aaron Brill, owner of Colorado鈥檚 . 鈥淔rom a purist鈥檚 perspective, it鈥檚 easy to scoff, but that鈥檚 an elitist attitude. The whole industry has become just a business.鈥�

鈥淭im looks at what people can afford to spend and what he needs to do to keep his places full and operating,鈥� says Rick Kahl, who tracks resort trends for Ski Area Management magazine. 鈥淭hat could be considered pragmatic, even soulless if you like, but he delivers for his customers.鈥�

At Hidden Valley, beginner lessons and lift tickets cost $15 and $45, respectively鈥攃heap by resort standards. Kids under six ski for free. The staff is friendly. Lines move quickly. And if you aren鈥檛 up for hitting the slopes on skis, a tubing area called the Polar Plunge offers alternative thrills.

To make it all work, Boyd has had to master the tricky business of generating snow in places that don鈥檛 get it naturally. Nearly every square inch of skiable terrain at Peak Resorts properties relies on man-made snow. Hidden Valley now employs 110 elevated snow fans that together can bury 30 acres under a foot of snow in 24 hours.

鈥淲e assume zero snowfall,鈥� Boyd says. 鈥淲e have to have overwhelming force. We鈥檙e pumping over 5,000 gallons of water a minute. That鈥檚 more than nearly any municipality in the St. Louis area can put out.鈥�

Although that might seem like a lot, Missouri has plenty of water, and megaresorts out west make far more snow each winter. Operating a ski area in such a warm climate, though, is a challenge. The snow fans can operate only at temperatures below 28 degrees. Last winter Hidden Valley averaged 42 degrees and was open for only 49 days during the December鈥揗arch season. 鈥淲e tough it out,鈥� says Boyd. 鈥淲e rely on Mother Nature and take the hand that鈥檚 dealt to us.鈥�

Certainly, many ski areas are concerned with what milder winters might do to their bottom lines, and even bunny hills like Massachusetts鈥� and Maine鈥檚 use onsite renewables like wind turbines to offset their carbon footprints. That doesn鈥檛 interest Boyd. 鈥淚t makes no economic sense,鈥� he says. 鈥淭he problem with all this solar and wind and other stuff is it only works if it鈥檚 subsidized by taxpayers. Not everybody skis, so why should everybody have to subsidize our energy?鈥�

Still, one thing鈥檚 not up for debate: Boyd and his snow fans play an essential role in welcoming recruits to the ski world. There鈥檚 a reason so many lifties out west are from Minnesota, Michigan, and Wisconsin. Olympic gold medalist Lindsey Vonn learned to ski at in suburban Minneapolis before moving to Colorado. Hidden Valley is home to 15-year-old Abigail Murer, a junior Olympian who now trains in Vail. And big-mountain skier Seth Morrison took his first runs at Devil鈥檚 Head Resort and Cascade Mountain, both in south-central Wisconsin.

鈥淪mall resorts in the Midwest give people the chance to try skiing,鈥� says Morrison. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 how I started. The biggest deal was to make it up the rope tow, which was the beginner area. It was the best feeling to get released from that struggle and ride a chair.鈥�

鈥淚t all starts at mom-and-pop ski areas,鈥� says Kimberly Plake, who has traveled the country hitting small resorts with her husband, legendary extreme skier Glen Plake. 鈥淚t doesn鈥檛 take a megaresort to have fun skiing.鈥�

Sure enough, as I flatten out at the bottom of a blue trail known as Show Me, I pass a Hidden Valley instructor with a pack of little kids stepping into bindings for the first time. Maybe one of them will compete in a future winter Olympics. Or maybe they鈥檒l grow up to cruise these hills in a gorilla suit. Either way, they look like they鈥檙e having a hell of a lot of fun.

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