Blog Post #2- Surfing the Spine

     The cold, dry air nips you in the face and ears as you step outside from the lodge.  There is a stillness to the cold that reminds me of what it must feel like to be a statue. The snow clings to the trees like cotton and sparkles in the sunlight like fireworks on the fourth of July. Your lungs tighten like drums as you take in a deep breath of the fresh, clean mountain air. Dropping your skis onto the snow surface with a dull thud, you notice the snow looks soft and flaky.  One at a time you engage your boots into the bindings and hear that familiar click of the toe piece and snap of the heal piece as the plastic moans and creaks in the cold. You begin to push off the snow surface with your poles and welcome the familiar smooth glide of the bottom of your skis. The blood rushes into your legs and arms as you rhythmically slide across the snow towards the outdated double chairlift that will take you to the top of the terrain commonly called "the center of the universe." Last nights snowfall has left a thin layer of ice on the foam, padded seat that an obviously hungover and less-than thrilled lift operator swings underneath you.  The chair takes you off the ground and swings you up toward the top of the mountain.  The ice turns into water as it penetrates the worn out Goretex on the seat of your ski pants. Passing above Turbo, the wind greets you at the apex of the hill like a smack in the face. The twenty to thirty mile per hour winds coming from the northwest blow snow into the top of 1st bowl on Pali. You can see "snow devils" blowing across the snow surface as it loads the lee side of the slope. The surf is definitely up! You remind yourself to keep your hands up and shoulders square to the mountain as you scout of your line along the Spine. The entrance to the spine only offers you a view of about a third of the slope as is falls away from you into a much steeper grade. Your pulse rate increases and your breathing becomes more focused as you exhale with every turn.  You engage your sharp, metal edges into the chalk-like snow and accelerate into the next turn.  You reach the bus stop after a long left hand turn brings you toward a field of tombstones waiting to turn your ski bases into swiss cheese.  At the last moment you shift your weight onto the down hill ski and make a sharp, straining turn into the Rock Garden.  Snow sprays around you like sawdust coming off of a chainsaw cutting onto a fresh piece of wood. Your stomach drops into your feet as you descend into the steep grade towards the Ho Chi Min trail.  After a few quick rabbit hops and a sharp right hand turn, the whoop-di-dos welcome you into the lodge pole pine forest. The evergreen scent enters your nostrils heightening your senses while mucous drips from your frozen, wax-like nose onto your balaclava and utlimately freezes with every inhalation and exhalation. Your legs wobble underneath your hips as your turns get longer and the lactic acid builds up in your thighs and calves like molten lava. The body begs you to stop but your mind convinces you that the end is near. As you pop out of the woods into the clearing, the other skiers above you on the chair call out like the ravens soaring above the clouds encouraging you to suck it up and keep going. The pines and spruces become thicker and taller as the run creeps lower and lower into the tree line. The steepness of the terrain decreases and you stand up taller as you allow your legs to recover from the seemingly endless onslaught of turning and braking. Your breathing becomes heavier and less rhythmic as you blow out carbon dioxide and breathe in the fresh, piney oxygen like a dog with its tongue hanging out. Coming down into International bowl your turns get lazy as you wash out your edges because you no longer have the strength left to engage your edges like you did at the top.  Entering into the lift maze you can feel your chest heave as you attempt to recover from the cardio workout the expert terrain has just provided.  You clumsily fish your ski pass out of your pocket and hear the familiar high pitched squeal of the ticket scanners granting permission for another lap.  You watch as the chair turns around the bull wheel and presents itself behind you as you slowly bend down to rest on the seat.  Your skis lift off the ground as you are pulled into the air past the first lift tower. You smile as you recover and glare into the blue bird, sunny sky. Another deep breath of that fresh mountain air invigorates your soul. Your breathing slows again and you focus your gaze at the terrain in front of you.  Another lap you say to yourself.  Maybe two.

I posted on Jennifer's blog and Gary's blog