On Skiing, Part II

Now that I can get off the chairlift without thinking about it, now that I know how to carry my sticks and how to ratchet my boots as tight as they'll go and how to easily navigate the entire mountain and name every lift on sight, it's on to the real stuff. According to EpicMix (the Strava of the Vail people) I've gotten in 25 days already, which means enough substantial hours on the slopes to have this thing sort of figured out.

What I'm convinced of already is that a: I'm spoiled rotten, and b: groomers suck. We had a snowless, warm week and I had to drag myself up the hill, convinced the snow would be just terrible. Tracked out and bumped out and scraped down to a mean layer of cement. Never mind that there were still feet upon feet of the good stuff, and still caches of untouched powder hiding in the trees. The last couple of days brought wicked cold temps and a nice dusting up top and everything was better again. So yes, a couple months of Tahoe snow has ruint me. And taught me unequivocally that groomers suck. Groomed runs are to road biking what tree skiing is to mountain biking; groomers are very fast and covered in people who are making unpredictable and potentially dangerous moves. The trees are hushed and underpopulated and challenging, and I love to explore every possible option and turn, making my untrammeled way between boulders and treewells. It's nice to go out alone and listen to music and chase new lines and to be distracted only by the litany that plays in my head: torso downslope, poles forward, flex into your boots, feet together.  

Every pause is worth a gasp
Pic courtesy of Will Snaith 

I think I could get better at this than mountain biking, because I don't feel limited by the same fears that plague me on two wheels. This new obsession is alarming in the context of larger life though, because the last thing I need is another criterion limiting my choice of locations and jobs. I got a resort job thinking ski-bum living was a whimsy to mark off the list, but this might be something I need every winter, and that makes me nervous. And strangely exhilarated.