A Day in the Life (cont.)
After a short walk through the town, we duck into the ski shop, stomping our boots and dusting off the fine layer of snow that we have already accumulated. The shop is chock full of bustling activity. Customers fill up every inch of every bench throughout the shop, as they are all trying to strap their boots on and get ready to brave the mountain. Employees dart in and around the customers, helping them try on boots and pick out the right skis. And in the middle of it all, Rugs, the shop owner's bear-like golden retriever, is sprawled out, taking a nap. To him, it's just another day at the shop.
As I make my way through a particularly unaccommodating group of South Americans, who are blocking the aisle and speaking boisterously in their native language, I look for the familiar faces of the ski shop boys. These veteran employees of the ski shop have over time become old friends that I look forward to visiting with every year that we return. It's too busy for chatting right now, but at least I get a head nod and a smile from one or two of them. After saying "Excuse me, " about a hundred times, I finally elbow my way through the crowd, retrieving my ski boots from the drying rack and heading toward a corner of a bench that has just opened up.
It occurs to me that it's already midmorning, and I start to get anxious that all the good snow is getting used up, so I hastily strap my ski boots on and finish getting my gear together. My favie, my dad, and my dad's close friend that always comes skiing with us are all just about ready to go, so I throw my shoes in the locker and head for the door, grabbing my powder skis on the way. Once we regroup outside, we all grab our skis and start the short walk to the base of the mountain.
My excitement builds, thinking about the ski runs that I want to tackle for the day, and I start walking as fast as I can in my bulky and awkward boots. The base of the mountain is crawling with people, and I keep a vigilant eye all around me, as I watch for others that may be haphazardly carrying their skis. One wrong move and I could easily be whacked in the head! We carefully descend several metal steps to get into the long line for the gondola, which will take us to the top of the mountain. After inching through the line for about fifteen or twenty minutes, we finally set foot into our eight person carriage, the doors close, and we begin our ascension through the snow and fog.
The ride to the top takes about ten minutes, and I watch the ant-like skiers whizzing down the mountain below me. We all laugh when a snowboarder doesn't land his jump, resulting in a total yard sale. Finally, we make it to the top, hop off the gondola, grab our skis from the rack on the gondola door, and head inside the adjacent building, where we take a quick pit stop. Then I make the final adjustments to my boots, gaiter, gloves, and goggles, and meet the others outside. We all snap into our skis, and after what has seemed like eons of getting ready time, it's finally time to ski!
We ski down the small hill to the beginning of the run we have already decided to go down first, and then off we go like dominoes, one after the other. My heart beat picks up as I speed off, gliding with ease down the slope. The foggy snow cloud continues to envelope us as we ski down towards a ski lift that is about halfway down the face of the mountain. It is so foggy, I can barely see my dad, who is already disappearing into the trees about seventy-five yards ahead. The snow and wind sting the few exposed portions of my face, but I barely notice because I am too busy enjoying the soft, fresh powder that my skis are sliding through like a hot knife through melted butter.
more skiing coming soon...
As I make my way through a particularly unaccommodating group of South Americans, who are blocking the aisle and speaking boisterously in their native language, I look for the familiar faces of the ski shop boys. These veteran employees of the ski shop have over time become old friends that I look forward to visiting with every year that we return. It's too busy for chatting right now, but at least I get a head nod and a smile from one or two of them. After saying "Excuse me, " about a hundred times, I finally elbow my way through the crowd, retrieving my ski boots from the drying rack and heading toward a corner of a bench that has just opened up.
It occurs to me that it's already midmorning, and I start to get anxious that all the good snow is getting used up, so I hastily strap my ski boots on and finish getting my gear together. My favie, my dad, and my dad's close friend that always comes skiing with us are all just about ready to go, so I throw my shoes in the locker and head for the door, grabbing my powder skis on the way. Once we regroup outside, we all grab our skis and start the short walk to the base of the mountain.
My excitement builds, thinking about the ski runs that I want to tackle for the day, and I start walking as fast as I can in my bulky and awkward boots. The base of the mountain is crawling with people, and I keep a vigilant eye all around me, as I watch for others that may be haphazardly carrying their skis. One wrong move and I could easily be whacked in the head! We carefully descend several metal steps to get into the long line for the gondola, which will take us to the top of the mountain. After inching through the line for about fifteen or twenty minutes, we finally set foot into our eight person carriage, the doors close, and we begin our ascension through the snow and fog.
The ride to the top takes about ten minutes, and I watch the ant-like skiers whizzing down the mountain below me. We all laugh when a snowboarder doesn't land his jump, resulting in a total yard sale. Finally, we make it to the top, hop off the gondola, grab our skis from the rack on the gondola door, and head inside the adjacent building, where we take a quick pit stop. Then I make the final adjustments to my boots, gaiter, gloves, and goggles, and meet the others outside. We all snap into our skis, and after what has seemed like eons of getting ready time, it's finally time to ski!
We ski down the small hill to the beginning of the run we have already decided to go down first, and then off we go like dominoes, one after the other. My heart beat picks up as I speed off, gliding with ease down the slope. The foggy snow cloud continues to envelope us as we ski down towards a ski lift that is about halfway down the face of the mountain. It is so foggy, I can barely see my dad, who is already disappearing into the trees about seventy-five yards ahead. The snow and wind sting the few exposed portions of my face, but I barely notice because I am too busy enjoying the soft, fresh powder that my skis are sliding through like a hot knife through melted butter.
more skiing coming soon...
posted by Bean at
4:43 PM
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