Terror on skis
Phil Taunton
Friday, February 29, 2008
Webster’s defines skiing as the act or sport of gliding on skis. It doesn’t say anything about the wide-eyed feeling of terror I had the first time my friends turned me loose on the mountain slopes of Colorado.
Skiing is actually quite easy. It’s the turning before you soar off the mountain or getting stopped before you become implanted in a tree that creates problems. Was I in for a surprise? I was certain I would be a natural and actually boasted I would be ready for ski jumps and somersaults by the second day. Truth be known, I was lucky to be alive the second day.
A short chapter on skiing was added to my life list of outdoor adventures early one March, several years ago. Wifeus and I were invited to join several other couples for a skiing vacation during the kids’ spring break.
Reservations were made, clothes were bought and away we went. It was awfully tough for me to leave Kansas, where the sun was shining, spring was in the air and fantastic fishing reports were beginning to circulate. Bass were on a feeding frenzy, gobbling up just about anything thrown to them. I couldn’t believe I was going to Colorado to play on the ice and snow. What was I doing? I never even liked to make a snowman when I was a kid, and now I was going to drive over 600 miles just to glide down a snow-covered hillside.
The thought never really occurred to me until we were well down Interstate 70 that skiing involved the possibility of getting hurt. Would I experience that same feeling of despair and uneasiness a driver feels when trying to brake his car during icy road conditions?
You know the feeling. Your teeth are clenched, toes curled and you have a death grip on the steering wheel while all the time wondering while you are sliding if the car will stop before you crash into something. Doubt began to creep into my mind. Do I really want to do this? Whatever! Columbus took a chance and I was looking for adventure. Besides, I would be “a natural.”
We drove to Denver the first day and enjoyed a delicious Mexican food fiesta that evening at the Casa Bonita. We made it to Winter Park by mid-morning the next day. Once our reservations were confirmed and the ski rental equipment checked out, it was time to challenge the slopes. Too late to get lessons, but who needed them anyway? I was going to be “a natural.” Why waste the money?
The ski lift ride up the mountain was breath-taking and offered a panoramic, picture-perfect view of Colorado. Everything was going great until Wifeus told me to stand up and push away from the lift. It didn’t take me long to discover there is nothing natural about snow skiing. I lost my balance and crashed into all my friends who were awaiting our arrival.
The rest of the afternoon was really all “downhill,” no pun intended.
I felt like a baby bird just learning to spread my wings and was fortunate to have an audience of friends along, who offered encouragement, dusted me off and collected my skiing apparatus every time I wiped out. I finally asked them to take off and enjoy their own skiing time. Because Wifeus isn’t “a natural,” she picked up skiing in no time and soon deserted me also.
One method to reduce speed and gain control is to point the tips of your skis across the slope and up the mountain. By skiing uphill you will gradually come to a stop and once you learn to turn, you can weave your way back and forth across the slope and down the mountain.
That’s skiing in a nutshell. I felt a great sense of accomplishment when I mastered this maneuver for the first time. My only problem was when I stopped, my back was facing downhill and I slowly began slipping backwards down the hill. Because I wasn’t a natural at skiing backwards either, the only thing to do was to fall down, turn around, get up and start again.
I finally made my way down to what I’ll call a T on the slope and stopped for a rest. Actually, a safety net at this juncture stopped me from crashing into the trees. Boy, I hadn’t taken such a beating since the third grade picnic.
A decision had to be made. I could either go to the left on a slope called the Turnpike, which would gradually get me to the lodge, or go to the right, down Practice Hill and zoom into the lodge’s staging area in grand style.
A couple of kids landed at my feet while I was making this crucial decision and asked me for directions. I guess I looked like a skier, anyway. After watching several people crash on Practice Hill, I told them I would show them the way to the lodge down the Turnpike. They replied in unison, “The Turnpike’s for sissies,” and off they went with reckless abandonment. Well, my ego got the best of me, so I, too, decided to “tame” the mountain.
This steep practice slope is situated right in front of the lodge. I really got to “cookin’,” and was soon way out of control. Something had to be done before I crashed through the doors of the lodge and joined someone in their broccoli and cheese noodle soup. I was frozen in terror, teeth clenched, toes curled and wondering if I could ever get stopped when I heard a big chorus of “sit down,” from my friends who had been watching me all along. I sat down, and when I finally stopped and looked up the slope, there was a 40-yard streak of blue dye in the snow that had been sucked out of my scotch-guarded Levi’s.
I was first in line for lessons the next morning. Skiing became a breeze, once I learned to snow plow and to shift my weight the wrong way for us “naturals.”
Good luck to all the families about to embark on your first ski trip this spring. Enjoy the food, scenery, and get a big breath of that fresh Colorado mountain air for me. Skiing will prove to be quite an adventure.