4 Minutes and 22 Seconds of Down-Time.

I stand perched on top of the world,  feeling like Zeus looking down from Mt. Olympus.  Grey cotton puffs of cloud carpet the valley floor, thousands of feet below.   The jagged peaks of the Monashees break the distant horizon like so many saw-teeth.  Diamond snow crystals reflect the pale yellow sunlight on the ground in front of me.

This isn’t a very difficult ski run.  In fact, it’s the easiest route to the bottom.   But it’s the beginning of the day and hardly anyone has skied on it yet.  

Plus the trail is perfectly groomed by the machines from the night before.  The snow has the consistency of flat, even  cordurory, like a white chenille bedspread.

Hero snow, they call it.  Easy to ski on.   A long smooth runway lies in front of me, with no bumps or obstacles.   

And I know what this means…

It’s GO time.

I put on my goggles, point my skis tips down the hill, and let gravity pull me.

The trail widens, and my velocity increases.   I start to do a few turns.   Not the  small Mickey-Mouse zig-zagging kind.    But the big arcing super-G turns, each hundreds of feet long.   

My velocity increases.  The gentle wind now whistles indignantly past my ears.  I crouch down, into a football stance, my hands in front of me like handlebars on a high-powered motorcycle.   I start to feel the gees increase as I trace my huge sine-waves onto the virgin corduroy. 

I see three black dots ahead:  two snowboarders and a skier.  

Hmph.   Beginners, going really slow.

Roger that.   We have Bogies at twelve o-clock.

I need to get past them.   I anticipate where they’ll turn and make a quick calculation.  Like an F-18 Fighter, I roar past them like they’re standing still.   

Now that I have the entire trail open in front of my, I’m REALLY ready to cut loose. 

Flexing at my ankles, knees and hips, I bend my body into a C-shape, and ride the single razor edge of my ski.   I can feel myself accelerate into the turn.   My feet feel like they’re slipping on a wet bar of soap, ready to zoom out in front of me.  

But I maintain the delicate balance:  almost, but not quite losing control, gaining more and more speed.  Then I shift my weight and for a split second,  my skis are in free-fall.  Then the pressure builds up on the opposite edge, as I start the next turn.

I do this over and over.   There’s a rhythm to this, like a pendulum.   A high-speed rocket pendulum.  This is such a euphoric feeling.   This is what I’ve been waiting to do all year.

The wind is now roaring in my ears like a jet engine.  My jacket is flapping like a flag in a hurricane.  My mouth forms a wide grimace as I suck in oxygen.   My quads are burning masses of fire, but I don’t care.  I’m going like a bat out  of hell, and right now, nothing else in life matters.

I can’t help but  hear  Bruce Sprinstein’s “Born to Run” in my head.   It just makes me want to scream and go even FASTER!

Taking a last-chance power-dive, I negotiate the last section of the trail.  There are a few knolls, and by timing it right, I get instants of almost weightlessness as I fly over them.

(OMG!  This is fun!!)   There is no amusement park in the whole world that can match this exhilaration!  I hear screaming noises,  and realize it’s me, making my own sound effects.  I’m a five-year old kid, pretending to be a Tie-fighter  from the Star Wards movies.  

 “RRRRRRROAHHH!   RRRRROOOAHHH!”

One last huge 90 degree left turn,  and I”m whizzing dangerously close to the snow fence.  The run is almost over.   I see the chairlift a few hundred yards away.  I’m there within moments.  

The sign says “SLOW DOWN”, which I contemptuously ignore until the very end.   I do a few quick jamming turns to shed my excess speed, and coast into the lift line for a perfect landing.

I’m panting, because I probably forgot to breathe. 

My eyes are wet… From the wind getting through my goggles ,perhaps.   Or maybe tears of joy. 

Maybe a bit of both.

Anyway, time to go up and do it all over again.

Explore posts in the same categories: The Outdoor Friar

Tags: Born to Run, Bruce Springstein, downhill skiing, Monashees, outdoors, ski, winter

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