Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Day 5: Mid-Vacation Blues

Canadian Olympic Moments:

- Cheryl Bernard , captain of curling team: Atractive, fit, age-appropriate, good with a broom.

- Jon Montgomery: After winning a gold medal, he is walking through a group of fans. Instead of throwing flowers, a young woman hands him a pitcher of beer. He takes it, and starts swilling. Of the experience, he said: "It was the sweetest beer I ever tasted and, to boot, it was free." Man after my own heart.

- Popular joke about French Canadians: They prefer doggie-style, so they can both watch the hockey game.

Sunday morning, after Rod and Gun club shindig, my mouth tastes like the inside of a dirty goldfish bowl. My head has a mysterious Gorbachev-style skin rash.

Outside it's overcast. Inside it's overcast.

My knees make a strange crunching noise when I walk.

I meet Erik at the bus stop.

"No new snow?" I say.

"No new snow," he says.

We board the ski bus in silence.

Did we over do it last night with moose satay? No, we have contracted the mid-vacation blues.

Treatment options:

- sit with it and let the feelings pass like a snow-less, overcast sky.

- switch from light beer to dark beer

- if all else fails, one remaining course of action, but I hear it's very strong.

At the mountain, we head to the North Bowl. We ski to the entry of one trail. A skier is perched on a ledge above us. He watches as we peer over the edge and waiver. Then he snaps two quick turns and lands on a ledge 10-feet below us.

He looks at us again, then jumps, spins in the othe direction, and skis off leaving a roostertail of snow in his wake.

The last time I saw a move like that was in a Warren Miller extreme skiing movie.

I don't want to be in a Warren Miller movie or an episode of E.R.

We traverse across the top of the North Bowl to an easier entry point between the cliffs. Erik enters a chute called Sweet Spot. The chute is around a narrow bend. Erik sideslips around the bend, points his skis down, and takes off. He shrieks, but doesn't fall.

I sideslip down. I can't see; fog covers Erik's path, the only path down.

My skis won't move.

Erik takes off his backpack.

My legs won't move.

Erik takes out a bottle of Coke.

My skis still won't move.

Erik takes out his lunch.

My legs still won't move.

Erik takes out a book.

Ten seconds later, the mid-vacation blues have lifted.