Swish swish
Last week was full of unholy amounts of rain, thunder and lightning. All of which tapered off conveniently enough before the weekend, with clear skies forecast all weekend long. Snow fiends might already know where this is going. With a few feet of new powder in the mountains, the siren call of the snow could not be denied. On Friday I took the day off to get shit done I was planning to get done that weekend which couldn't be tabled and make accommodations for a long weekend in Tahoe.
I was already a bit late to the race in trying to track down a room for Saturday night in South Lake Tahoe; the cheap-but-decent places were sold out leaving only the not-as-cheap-but-still-decent places. With lodging confirmed, all systems were a go. I dusted off the gear, picked up discount tickets at Costco, a thousand errands later, some micro-sleep and we were on the road by 7 am, Saturday.
Around 9:45 am we hit the traffic to Kirkwood. We were two miles from the entrance. The call had obviously been heard by all weekend warriors, and we were all jockeying for our place in the convergence. I found out later that they had closed the parking lot entrance about 30 minutes after we finally made it in and parked (around 10:45). They were packing in the cars where ever they could find space. We ended up in a semi-frozen mudpit.
cat_tat was going to try snowboarding for the first time. In her previous incarnations as a snow bunny she had been a disgruntled skier. She was looking for fun in the Board where the Planks had failed. Crazy girl.
Me, I love skiing. I've never been much with other sports, but in skiing I r teh shit. I don't have the strength to bomb moguls on the double-black diamonds run after run, but I certainly can look awesome for a run or three. Damn my under-exercised legs. I hadn't been up to the slopes at all this year because the weekends have just been chock full of other stuff to do (moving, work, getting sick, etc.), and the effort for going to Tahoe (a 3.5 to 8 hour drive in both directions) for just one day is generally too much for me and my pet sloth. And if I'm not going weekend after weekend, it generally takes a two-day stretch for me to feel back into the groove again. It was so damn good to be back on skis.
Fresh powder is a curse (more work) and a blessing (YEHAAAW). 10% curse, 90% blessing, if you want to break it down scientific-like. Friday had been the fresh powder day, so Saturday was the day-after-fresh-powder-day, so less work but also less ye or haw. There was still fresh snow, but groomed or chunky in all places. It was however a gorgeous day. The sun was out, there was no wind, the whole mountain (and Tahoe) glistened with that freshly dumped on appearance people think of when they hear the phrase "winter wonderland." Among the many benefits the sun provides, like giving sustenance to plants and dolling out two scoops of raisins, keeping the snow soft and the clothing layers light are on the top of my list of its usefulness.
I've been trying to think of a way to relate the joy I had skiing on Saturday and Sunday, but am failing to find the words to transcribe it. There are some events you just have to do to understand. While I wont equate skiing to sex, the parallels for being able to encompass the experience in language are reminiscent. For example saying, "my third run, off lift 6, down the face where it hadn't yet gotten so mogully, was like, fucking off the hook. I was Jesus on skis. Fuck yeah." It's got the excitement but lacks the ability to convey to a third party the stuff of my nirvana. Objectively, skiing or snowboarding looks a little silly. I clocked a 30 minute wait in line and on the ski lift that turned into a 2 minute run. Disneyland is like a weak imitation of the euphoria involved, but has a similar carrot-stick model of getting the good stuff. But it's all worth it. The traffic, cost, waiting, cold, crowds... all paltry detractors once you're on the slopes. These are a few of the feelings I savor when on the mountain: The bounce-hop in a turn as gravity and strength keeps you from plummeting down the mountain face first; the thump of hard skis slapping soft snow; bull-shitting with complete strangers on the lifts, bonded by your insatiable appetite for snow; the cold freezing your face into a perma-grin; gliding in-between trees to make your own way to a trail you'd like to hit; reading the terrain ahead of you and hitting it just as you knew you would with the grace of a cat if a cat could only ski; the mother-fucking best cup of hot cocoa the world has ever produced, handed to you for the paltry sum of $1.75.
Yeah, it was a good weekend. For cat_tat too. She repeatedly warned me she might end up in tears. But while her ass, knees and hands took a beating learning the art of the Board, she was all grins by the end of it. I can't wait to get back up.
I was already a bit late to the race in trying to track down a room for Saturday night in South Lake Tahoe; the cheap-but-decent places were sold out leaving only the not-as-cheap-but-still-decent places. With lodging confirmed, all systems were a go. I dusted off the gear, picked up discount tickets at Costco, a thousand errands later, some micro-sleep and we were on the road by 7 am, Saturday.
Around 9:45 am we hit the traffic to Kirkwood. We were two miles from the entrance. The call had obviously been heard by all weekend warriors, and we were all jockeying for our place in the convergence. I found out later that they had closed the parking lot entrance about 30 minutes after we finally made it in and parked (around 10:45). They were packing in the cars where ever they could find space. We ended up in a semi-frozen mudpit.
cat_tat was going to try snowboarding for the first time. In her previous incarnations as a snow bunny she had been a disgruntled skier. She was looking for fun in the Board where the Planks had failed. Crazy girl.
Me, I love skiing. I've never been much with other sports, but in skiing I r teh shit. I don't have the strength to bomb moguls on the double-black diamonds run after run, but I certainly can look awesome for a run or three. Damn my under-exercised legs. I hadn't been up to the slopes at all this year because the weekends have just been chock full of other stuff to do (moving, work, getting sick, etc.), and the effort for going to Tahoe (a 3.5 to 8 hour drive in both directions) for just one day is generally too much for me and my pet sloth. And if I'm not going weekend after weekend, it generally takes a two-day stretch for me to feel back into the groove again. It was so damn good to be back on skis.
Fresh powder is a curse (more work) and a blessing (YEHAAAW). 10% curse, 90% blessing, if you want to break it down scientific-like. Friday had been the fresh powder day, so Saturday was the day-after-fresh-powder-day, so less work but also less ye or haw. There was still fresh snow, but groomed or chunky in all places. It was however a gorgeous day. The sun was out, there was no wind, the whole mountain (and Tahoe) glistened with that freshly dumped on appearance people think of when they hear the phrase "winter wonderland." Among the many benefits the sun provides, like giving sustenance to plants and dolling out two scoops of raisins, keeping the snow soft and the clothing layers light are on the top of my list of its usefulness.
I've been trying to think of a way to relate the joy I had skiing on Saturday and Sunday, but am failing to find the words to transcribe it. There are some events you just have to do to understand. While I wont equate skiing to sex, the parallels for being able to encompass the experience in language are reminiscent. For example saying, "my third run, off lift 6, down the face where it hadn't yet gotten so mogully, was like, fucking off the hook. I was Jesus on skis. Fuck yeah." It's got the excitement but lacks the ability to convey to a third party the stuff of my nirvana. Objectively, skiing or snowboarding looks a little silly. I clocked a 30 minute wait in line and on the ski lift that turned into a 2 minute run. Disneyland is like a weak imitation of the euphoria involved, but has a similar carrot-stick model of getting the good stuff. But it's all worth it. The traffic, cost, waiting, cold, crowds... all paltry detractors once you're on the slopes. These are a few of the feelings I savor when on the mountain: The bounce-hop in a turn as gravity and strength keeps you from plummeting down the mountain face first; the thump of hard skis slapping soft snow; bull-shitting with complete strangers on the lifts, bonded by your insatiable appetite for snow; the cold freezing your face into a perma-grin; gliding in-between trees to make your own way to a trail you'd like to hit; reading the terrain ahead of you and hitting it just as you knew you would with the grace of a cat if a cat could only ski; the mother-fucking best cup of hot cocoa the world has ever produced, handed to you for the paltry sum of $1.75.
Yeah, it was a good weekend. For cat_tat too. She repeatedly warned me she might end up in tears. But while her ass, knees and hands took a beating learning the art of the Board, she was all grins by the end of it. I can't wait to get back up.