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Threeleggedkat's Twolegged Tales

post #1 of 7
Thread Starter 
I decided to try this continuing
thread thing. Twoleggedkat Tales will be stories about me/people I have known. . . . . What got me started today was a group of my "friends" called to say that they were heading West for the last snow skiing trip of the season. These people are crazy! I am so-o-o-o ready for spring/summer and they are mourning the fact that they can't ski anymore this season. . . . . . .
What is it about skiing? Now, if this is your thing, fine, but why do avid skiers insist that we would all LOVE it? This same group of peope talked me into trying the sport a few years ago when they learned that I had reached my 30th birthday without ever gong skiing. It seems that my friend Rob had a friend who ran a small lodge in Vermont and I agreed to try the sport. I am not what you call proficient in any sport but I do love to watch most events. Lttle did I know what lay in store for me on the slopes of VT. . . . . . .
First of all the outfitting: do
you realize how much neon spandex it takes to surround a 6'4" 180lb female. (let us just suffice to
say that I have seen less lycra at an Aerosmith concert!) Not to mention the skis---if God had wanted all of me ballanced on 4' long, 4" wide strips of waxed wood I think he would have let me be the first to know. Finally, when I was stuffed into the suit (what is this fuzz shoved up around my neck that resembles fugitive pubic hair ? ? ?) the battle is just beginning.
I decide not to let on that I am already miserable. What the hey, I'll just ride the little chalet lift seat to the top of the mountain, get out, look around, change my mind and take the next car back down. AU CONTRAIRRE ! To begin with the "little chalet lift chair" is really a T-shaped hook with a 2 by 4 on the bottom that comes down and scoops you up from behind (can you say "king of the wedges") and races pell-mell to the top of the slope and proceeds to dump you forward, out and downhill. All in on swift motion. (so much for getting out, looking around and deciding if you want to ski or not) Baby, you are on your way down; fast and hard, head into the biting wind, mouth open, screaming at the top of your lungs as confused fellow skiers and woodland animals grab their young and flee your path. You're picking up speed and realizing that your skipoles were the first thing you dropped; as if having them would make the pretense of stopping seem any more a reality than the prayers you are forcing out of your lips between ear-piercing howls of lifetime redemption!!!
What is that up ahead? The Lodge parking lot! The attendant, a pimple faced local, is yelling something about "You can't come in here. This is a reserved lot!"
Yeah, right, kid, like you could stop a run away train. . . . The parked cars only serve as flippers on an old-fashioned pinball machine. They buffet me around but don't detour or stop me! Directly in my path now is the Restaurant/Lounge's double bay picture window. As I approach I can see diners and drinkers diving under tables or exiting anywhere possible. I am doomed!!!! 30 is too young to die on the hills of Vt. in sub-zero temperatures; screw the picturesque Currier and Ives countryside! But wait, what foresight: directly below the picture windows is a 7'deep planting of thick thorned English Holly. Yes, it stopped me just short of the dining room windows. THANK YOU, JESUS ! ! !
I was relieved (to be alive) I had long since relieved myself as evidenced by the 3' yellow icicle windswept from my thigh. My "friends" comments were "perhaps water skiing would be more my style". But that, as the Kat has been know to remark, is another story. . . . . .
post #2 of 7
Great skiing story! Even though I came to love skiing within a relatively short time, I can totally relate to your experience. Many times I flung my innocent body into the snow, all the while repeating a mantra: "This is fun." Then, after Mother Nature had decided I'd been punished enough, skiing actually did become fun!

Mind, it's been more than 25 years since I've been skiing; and I'll not be doing it anytime soon. I was in good shape back then, whereas now my shape is hard to define or to imagine.

My brother and sister-in-law came to visit me here at Portland in Oregon back during the early 1970s. One of the things they wanted to do was go skiing. I said, "Sure, let's go!" All went well until we came in view of Mount Hood, our destination. I pointed up to where there was still snow — this being June — and said, "We're going up there."

Much silence ensued. You see, they'd come from Michigan. Yes, they'd done quite a bit of skiing; but not on any actual mountains. There was a sort of hill which passed as a skiing venue not far from where they lived. Here, of course, we have mountains; and if you've learned to ski on one of those structures, replete with "boiler plate" ice across which you edge madly to stay on top of your skis, you can ski just about anyplace.

I think both my brother and sister-in-law were in a state of semi-shock as we parked the car at Timberline Lodge and took a snow "cat" up to the nearest snow field, where a temporary T-bar lift had been set up. All the permanent facilities were much lower in elevation and hence idle during the summer months.

Eschewing the T-bar, we decided — actually I decided after assessing my guests' states of mind — we'd just ski to the lodge, which was nevertheless a considerable distance down the mountain. So I'd ski about a quarter of a mile and stop to wait, while they'd come tumbling after.

Thus, in various stages of lessening dignity, we descended to the lodge. At least we all enjoyed a few drinks, made stiffer due to the elevation! But the excitement didn't end there. As we descended via rental car from the lodge to the nearest hamlet, Government Camp, the fuel-warning light came on. "No problem," I cheerily announced. "It's all downhill."

My two relations sat there looking quite grim and unassured, however. With the wilderness pressing in on both sides of the road, they apparently had visions of being eaten by bears — or something. But we cruised right into the gas station at the bottom of the mountain, no problem. End of story. When next my brother and sister-in-law visited me here, they didn't mention anything about wanting to go skiing.

post #3 of 7
LOL what an experience. It just confirms that I just really don't need to learn how to ski!!
post #4 of 7
I rollerblade all the time, I can skate backwards, sideways ramping, I love it. Well, my friends are so convinced that I'd be great at skiing but,I really what to thank you for reminding me how of something my Dad used to say...
"You can't be good at everything honey!" ...skiing is not so important in my life
post #5 of 7
As a lifelong resident of ski country I question why I should pay thousands of dollars to break something when i can do it in my front yard for FREE!!!!
The same when I view the figure skaters. I did better maneuvers the first time I put skates on. Mind you,I was simply trying to stand up at the time....:goodbad
post #6 of 7
Haha! I agree Kittyfoot! I can break my bones in the "saftey" of my own yard....LOL
Skiing just isn't for me!
post #7 of 7
I used to do that on a daily basis. All you need, is a long lead rope, a willful colt and then just ask the horse to go in one direction "Easy" is the command, but easy is not how it usually goes! LOL It is also fun in the mud, but you have to wear gloves, otherwise you get rope burns- ohhh training young horses, gotta love it! Sometimes, it is just like beating your head against a wall though...
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