In the valley of horses
All winter long I've needed a new winter jacket. The one I have is a two-piece, with a fleece liner and an outer shell made of rubberized plastic (or something ... I don't know what it's made of, but it does a crackerjack job of retaining heat and moisture, so that by the time I get to the subway after a 10 minute morning walk, I'm overheated and damp with sweat).
This morning, while recovering from a near-non-existent hangover, I bought this jacket at the resort's pro shop. The original sticker price was crazy expensive, but with the 50% off end-of-season discount, the final price ended up being merely ditzy. I also bought long johns and some amazing gloves/mitts that are mitts on the outside but separated into finger pockets (like gloves) on the inside, and are lined with a fur-soft insert so silky and cozy it made my friend remark, "It's like sticking your hand right in a bunny's ass! I mean, the animal kind, not the ski kind. I mean, well, not the actual ass, it's just that it's really furry ... oh, fuck off already."
The long johns were more than a size too small, but necessary, because the evening's primary activity was a 6 km moonlit cross-country ski. Because of the cloud cover, it wasn't moonlit, but there were lanterns all along the trail, leading to a blazing bonfire at the halfway point, complete with hot apple cider and rosy-cheeked Russians. It felt a lot longer than 6 km, mostly because it's been about 15 years since I last skied, and because the wax on my rentals was sub-optimal (with little grip, it felt more like skating than skiing, especially in the single track). I did a decent job of keeping up, falling somewhere in between P, who was so keen he took an extra loop halfway through the trail, and one of the other guys, who noted in a lovely accent, "There's a reason why Great Britain never wins any medals at the Winter Olympics."
It was hard to focus on the trail at times, because the sheer beauty of the surroundings was literally arresting. Snow-covered conifers stood fat and still against a dark blue-grey sky, while nearly-naked deciduous limbs creaked under the burden of ice and wind. A small creek ran beside the trail for a bit. It was unfrozen so the surface was black and glassy and as I glided by "don't fall, stay dry" was my mantra. The rest of the time I was singing (mostly in my head) a song from Friday's rehearsal, with the lyrics amended to suit the environment:
I got skis / you got skis / all of God's children got skis
When I get to heaven gonna put on my skis
Gonna ski all over God's heaven
We made it back to the chalet just after 9:00, a bit earlier than expected, which meant we had time to go snow tubing. Which was AWESOME. Then back to the room to try to warm up frosty bums. Then over to the other suite to eat pickies and drink I-don't-know-how-many bottles of wine. Many. All good.
And then back to our room to sleep in a lovely square bed so comfortable I was not at all exaggerating when I said I could happily live in it for the rest of my happy life.
This morning, while recovering from a near-non-existent hangover, I bought this jacket at the resort's pro shop. The original sticker price was crazy expensive, but with the 50% off end-of-season discount, the final price ended up being merely ditzy. I also bought long johns and some amazing gloves/mitts that are mitts on the outside but separated into finger pockets (like gloves) on the inside, and are lined with a fur-soft insert so silky and cozy it made my friend remark, "It's like sticking your hand right in a bunny's ass! I mean, the animal kind, not the ski kind. I mean, well, not the actual ass, it's just that it's really furry ... oh, fuck off already."
The long johns were more than a size too small, but necessary, because the evening's primary activity was a 6 km moonlit cross-country ski. Because of the cloud cover, it wasn't moonlit, but there were lanterns all along the trail, leading to a blazing bonfire at the halfway point, complete with hot apple cider and rosy-cheeked Russians. It felt a lot longer than 6 km, mostly because it's been about 15 years since I last skied, and because the wax on my rentals was sub-optimal (with little grip, it felt more like skating than skiing, especially in the single track). I did a decent job of keeping up, falling somewhere in between P, who was so keen he took an extra loop halfway through the trail, and one of the other guys, who noted in a lovely accent, "There's a reason why Great Britain never wins any medals at the Winter Olympics."
It was hard to focus on the trail at times, because the sheer beauty of the surroundings was literally arresting. Snow-covered conifers stood fat and still against a dark blue-grey sky, while nearly-naked deciduous limbs creaked under the burden of ice and wind. A small creek ran beside the trail for a bit. It was unfrozen so the surface was black and glassy and as I glided by "don't fall, stay dry" was my mantra. The rest of the time I was singing (mostly in my head) a song from Friday's rehearsal, with the lyrics amended to suit the environment:
I got skis / you got skis / all of God's children got skis
When I get to heaven gonna put on my skis
Gonna ski all over God's heaven
We made it back to the chalet just after 9:00, a bit earlier than expected, which meant we had time to go snow tubing. Which was AWESOME. Then back to the room to try to warm up frosty bums. Then over to the other suite to eat pickies and drink I-don't-know-how-many bottles of wine. Many. All good.
And then back to our room to sleep in a lovely square bed so comfortable I was not at all exaggerating when I said I could happily live in it for the rest of my happy life.