The skiing conditions on Thursday were the best I've experienced this year, when skiing is effortless and I feel like I'm soaring down the mountain like an eagle. The company was wonderful, too. Annie's friend Lois came along and she's full of fun as well as being a connisseur (pardon my spelling) of wine, another interest of mine. Annie's friend June also came along. She's a wonder: At age seventy, she goes on adventures all over creation. In a month or so, she's going to be hiking the Grand Canyon and going on a week-long whitewater rafting trip down the Colorado River with her grandchildren. She's a veteran hiker, paddler, and has even built her own log cabin--what an inspiration.
After Thursday's skiing perfection, it was only natural that I decided to forget about everything but skiing again on Friday. But the conditions were a huge disappointment. The lower third of the mountain was pure slush and, to my mind, nearly impossible to ski on. The upper third was decent and fortunately there are plenty of trails to ski on up there. I ran into Mike (the guy I met on Tuesday) and we had a cup of coffee up on the second floor of the Saddle Lodge, looking out on the High Peaks. Gosh, it was beautiful--we spent lots of time just sitting there discussing the view. Then Mike suggested we ski the North Side, which stays colder and provides better spring skiing when the temperatures are above freezing. He was right; conditions were very good over there. Gore Mountain amazes me; I've been skiing it all winter and I still haven't skiied every trail and am still not familiar with several areas of it.
Finally I realized that my legs had had enough; my thigh muscles were tired. At the time I understood this, however, I had miles of skiing ahead of me before I'd be safely back at the base lodge. So we devised our route to get down, and somehow or other, on a descent that was not at all steep, something happened (I know not what) and the impact ejected me from my skis and I went flying. The conclusion of this collision with Mother Earth resulted in what is commonly referred to up here as "a garage sale." My skis were sprawled out uphill from me and my poles were downhill. I had no idea of any of this because I landed on both knees and I was lying on the slope, my head down, waiting for the worst of the pain to subside. Because Mike had skiied down ahead of me, he wasn't around to see the indignity of the whole thing. But a nice guy came by and asked if I were okay. I remember saying with all the gusto I could muster at that moment, "Oh, yes, absolutely!" Then he said, "Are you sure you're okay?" And I looked up at him and sat up and said, "Thank you so much for stopping--I'm really fine," when inside I was silently praying, "Please, please, don't call the ski patrol, especially since I know the guys who patrol this area and it would be unbearably embarrassing."
Then as I tried desperately to collect my wits, another guy swooped down beside me and asked if I needed help. I assured him no, I was just getting up. Then he said, "Judith, hi! Let me help you up." I looked up and it was Cork, Annie's colleague, looking so handsome in his blue ski hat (and blue eyes!) that I was immediately distracted from my pain. Talk about a white knight in shining armor--Cork was it at that moment. With his help, I got up, got back into my skis, chatted a minute or two and skiied on down to catch up with Mike.
I got down the mountain all right, but not without snowplowing my way through the worst of the slush. The rest of the day, however, I did not feel like myself. It wasn't the pain so much as the fact that I had definitely been knocked silly. So when it got to be time for me to cook dinner, I stood in the kitchen looking down at the shrimp before me, and realized there was no way I could cook a meal. I went out to the garage where Ken was putting the final touches on the two-tier indoor growing system. We agreed to go to Black Mountain for a burger, and I declare the good will and jovial atmosphere of the place, a glass of wine, and a huge, juicy cheeseburger and salad made me feel much better. Today I'm fine--very tired, perhaps, and coping with a number of aches and pains, but okay.
Today I plant seeds! And I'll go hiking with Sophie in the two inches of snow that fell overnight, which turned my fields and woods into a winter wonderland.
After Thursday's skiing perfection, it was only natural that I decided to forget about everything but skiing again on Friday. But the conditions were a huge disappointment. The lower third of the mountain was pure slush and, to my mind, nearly impossible to ski on. The upper third was decent and fortunately there are plenty of trails to ski on up there. I ran into Mike (the guy I met on Tuesday) and we had a cup of coffee up on the second floor of the Saddle Lodge, looking out on the High Peaks. Gosh, it was beautiful--we spent lots of time just sitting there discussing the view. Then Mike suggested we ski the North Side, which stays colder and provides better spring skiing when the temperatures are above freezing. He was right; conditions were very good over there. Gore Mountain amazes me; I've been skiing it all winter and I still haven't skiied every trail and am still not familiar with several areas of it.
Finally I realized that my legs had had enough; my thigh muscles were tired. At the time I understood this, however, I had miles of skiing ahead of me before I'd be safely back at the base lodge. So we devised our route to get down, and somehow or other, on a descent that was not at all steep, something happened (I know not what) and the impact ejected me from my skis and I went flying. The conclusion of this collision with Mother Earth resulted in what is commonly referred to up here as "a garage sale." My skis were sprawled out uphill from me and my poles were downhill. I had no idea of any of this because I landed on both knees and I was lying on the slope, my head down, waiting for the worst of the pain to subside. Because Mike had skiied down ahead of me, he wasn't around to see the indignity of the whole thing. But a nice guy came by and asked if I were okay. I remember saying with all the gusto I could muster at that moment, "Oh, yes, absolutely!" Then he said, "Are you sure you're okay?" And I looked up at him and sat up and said, "Thank you so much for stopping--I'm really fine," when inside I was silently praying, "Please, please, don't call the ski patrol, especially since I know the guys who patrol this area and it would be unbearably embarrassing."
Then as I tried desperately to collect my wits, another guy swooped down beside me and asked if I needed help. I assured him no, I was just getting up. Then he said, "Judith, hi! Let me help you up." I looked up and it was Cork, Annie's colleague, looking so handsome in his blue ski hat (and blue eyes!) that I was immediately distracted from my pain. Talk about a white knight in shining armor--Cork was it at that moment. With his help, I got up, got back into my skis, chatted a minute or two and skiied on down to catch up with Mike.
I got down the mountain all right, but not without snowplowing my way through the worst of the slush. The rest of the day, however, I did not feel like myself. It wasn't the pain so much as the fact that I had definitely been knocked silly. So when it got to be time for me to cook dinner, I stood in the kitchen looking down at the shrimp before me, and realized there was no way I could cook a meal. I went out to the garage where Ken was putting the final touches on the two-tier indoor growing system. We agreed to go to Black Mountain for a burger, and I declare the good will and jovial atmosphere of the place, a glass of wine, and a huge, juicy cheeseburger and salad made me feel much better. Today I'm fine--very tired, perhaps, and coping with a number of aches and pains, but okay.
Today I plant seeds! And I'll go hiking with Sophie in the two inches of snow that fell overnight, which turned my fields and woods into a winter wonderland.
posted by Judith at 7:30 AM
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