But enough about me! Let's talk about Snowboarding! And...ME!
In what has become a yearly tradition of outrageous injuries, nearly murdered chefs, and photoshopped photographs, we once again made the trip out to Beaver Creek, Colorado. Prior to going there, I totally failed to understand why anyone would be willing to fly all that distance just to ski or board when there are perfectly serviceable mountains here on the East Coast that one can careen down just as easily, and without paying for airfare. Now that I HAVE been out there, I can say categorically that I now 100% understand why people do this.
It's because they actually have snow in the Rocky Mountains.
Oh sure, we of the East Coast THINK we have snow, and maybe somewhere in the hinterlands of Maine* they get the legitimate snow that deserves to be called snow and they all go "whish-whoosh" through it on cross-country skis and it piles up around their knees and is fluffy and delightful and someone makes hot cocoa and someone else brings out a furry blanket and suddenly the entire state is a Norman Rockwell painting. But those of us who have ever tried to ski or board in Pennsylvania, New York State, and even several of the mountains in Vermont and New Hampshire know that what they call "snow" is, in reality, gravel made of chunks of ice and the frozen, chopped up remains of the last poor bastard who attempted to carve on it. Boarding there is an exercise in determination and Darwinism.
To the challenges of boarding on ice chunks you may add the moving obstacles of roughly 8 million asian tourists who have never been on skis or boards before. Mostly I think they do it because they look adorable in their ski bunny outfits and know it, but in between photo ops they are wild mountain juggernauts, tumbling downhill or flying from one side of the slope to the other in barely-controlled arcs of desperate survival. It's like playing a giant game of Snow Frogger. Can you make it down the mountain without killing someone, or being killed? FIND OUT NEXT!
Yeah.
So Colorado, where you can sometimes find yourself on a 20 minute long trail, with not another human being in sight, is like a gift directly from the Gods of Boarding**. Especially when there has been 12 inches of fresh snow overnight. That, in my opinion, is the very next thing to Nirvana. For those of my readers who have never skied on powder skis, or boarded in powder, allow me to explain. I cannot describe what it is like for skiers because I've never skied in fat boys...but when you are on a snowboard, in bottomless powder, on a slope steep enough to guarantee continued movement...the world just goes away. Your board floats through - it's like you're being cradled in a cloud of fluffy cotton candy. It's so good, that middling boarders will risk life and limb doing tree runs just to hunt down the last remaining powder left on the mountain after the groomers have come through. And by middling boarders willing to risk life and limb I'm obviously talking about myself.
Which is how I came by two really amazing bruises on each knee. I was in the trees, I tried to really force a turn from toe to heel edge to get in between two trees, the tail of my board got caught under a crust of ice, the turn failed, and I wound up shooting straight into a tree. It was very exciting. My knees impacted first, and then the top half of my body went one way around the tree, the bottom half of my body went the other way, and I got the breath knocked out of me. I stood up immediately to assess the damage, and the second I was upright, the tree added insult to injury by dumping its ENTIRE load of snow down my neck. Awesome. This is further proof that trees are bastards, because there was definitely a delay between my impact, standing up, and the snow landing on me. Had the snow just been "shaken" loose by me hitting the tree, it would have dumped on me when I was bent over. Instead the tree bided its time. No doubt it had heard about my Christmas trees. There's probably some kind of Tree Mafia. Don't worry though, I've gotten my own back by having non-stop fireplace fires ever since. Kiss your kindred goodbye, boys!
The next post will have all the pictures. In the meantime, I'm freakin' STARVING! It's peanut-butter jelly time.
p.s. Should I be concerned that my dogs' blog has 30 more followers than my blog? WHY are my dogs more interesting than me???
* In my personal mythology, Maine is where all the other states hope to go when they die.
** Snurfer, Burton, Winterstick and Gnu. Mount Olympus probably gets some seriously sick powder and I'm sure they've set up an epic Board Park on one of the slopes.
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4 comments:
Might as well do something fun in this craptastic cold. Why is Maine so special to you? Curious minds want to know. ;)
The tree was trying not to laugh at you, but in the end it couldn't help itself and when the laughter started the shaking started and there went the snow. Don't make Fangorn mad.
And why do all the other states expect Maine to outlive them? Where does Maine want to when it dies? Or is Maine the only state thinking it's immortal?
Your assesment of states aspirations to be Maine is right up there with Maine's opinon of itself. When you enter the state by car, the sign on the side of the road says: Welcome to Maine. The way life should be.
Not that I'm one to argue. I am all for a state that bans bilboards on hiways & biways.
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