For a Sunday with temps in the 60s - the last warmth we will have in awhile? - the path wasn't too crowded. All in all it was a nice 2-hour ride from my place past C-470 & Kipling. And thankfully there was no headwind either way. The ride wasn't in the plans for today. I originally envisioned something a little more time-consuming and involving exposure. However my thumb is still a little sore. Why do you ask? Because I bucked up my courage and visited "The White Strip of Death"
Arising at the not-quite-light hour of 6:15 am, I set out for my rendezvous with Jason. The drive up went quickly in discussion and 45 minutes later after cresting Loveland Pass, we could see it laying flatly under the caliginous sky, THE STRIP. Well actually to be precise it is four strips that converge into one mighty strip - a strip so terrifying and austere that if you came across it in a dark alley, you would turn tail.
But it's only a series of Blue runs.
Ah yes, that might be so intrepid reader. But the blueness is so blue that it burns your retinas and its firmness is so frozen it will render your quads into holiday mashed potatoes bathing languidly in a lactic acid gravy.
Soon we were sucking up our will in a redoubt of courage as we rode the lift up - THE STRIP taunting us to our left as we slowly made our way up. Wait! Are those exposed rocks underneath us.
Human ingenuity is an amazing thing. We can make coffee makers that begin brewing at a designated time, we can send submersibles down thousands of fathoms and we can pave the way for downhill skiing even when there is no snow. We just blow it.
While some might consider this a technological wonder, I consider it to be skiing on shaved ice, just add some syrup and give me a little wooden paddle spoon and I have desert.
The first run, well the first run was the first skiing since May so it was ugly. I caught an edge coming down a drop and bit it, and bit it pretty good. Apparently I nailed my left knee with the edge of my right ski, cutting a gash and bruising myself like an overripe banana - something I wouldn't discover until later that day. It wasn't until Saturday when my thumb was acting funny, and not in a Dave Chappel sort of way either. Must have caught my ski pole and jerked my hand funny during my tumble.
After that, the legs went through a renascence - refamiliarizing themselves with the motions and before long I was pushing it and turning a little less pronounced. Three hours - 11 runs and a Telemark IPA - not a bad way to spend the day before going into work. Mmmm, beer!!
Jason and I got separated - a feat in itself considering there were four runs open - on our fourth run. I started ahead of him and thought he passed me. He didn't and I kept going to the bottom and he stopped mid-mountain. It was somewhat familiar to Where's Waldo? While riding the lift I saw him skiing a couple of times and vice versa. Apparently Jason fell twice and each time wasn't while he was ripping it down the mountain - I have no qualms admitting I think Jason is a better skier than myself - but while going slowly. Such is the way with friction and gravity.
So do your snow dance - the front coming in the middle of the week is not forecasting to bring abundant precipitation unfortunately, just coldness - I'm hoping to make this a winter with copious slaloming.
ARTIST OF POST - Radiohead. There's a shocker right? The album version of this song is amazing.
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