One thing about these weeks off - they go fast. Whew boy but they have been fun.
Tuesday was cruising with the Kuz man, finding some left-over pow stashes and getting some great turns in. I tried dropping a few rock faces and tweaked my wrist when I ate it on one landing, but nothing major. That evening Kuz, Plo, AP, Jo and I all had a nice dinner on the waterfront in Vancouver, then waited around for our friend Stel's flight to show up, which was ridiculously delayed. Kuz and I stayed up to drive back to Whistler, and we got in at about quarter after 4. No matter, we're on vacation. I ate, popped in the ear plugs, and slept late in the morning. Joined the crew on the hill for some lazy afternoon turns, got a little crazy on the backside of the Whistler mountain and dislocated my thumb. Popping that sucker back in almost made me writhe off the lift chair. Note to self for next time - repair hand on the ground. Its my left thumb, which I don't really use for typing anyway, so I'll get by. I tore what little is left of the anterior ligament in the thumb, again. I've torn it on both hands numerous times, and seeing as ligaments don't grow back, I lose more of my opposable thumb power every time. I guess you could say I become more and more primate with each incident.
So the left hand is basically useless for the rest of the trip. I couldn't even pick up a glass of water with it if I tried. I'll look pretty dumb not carrying a pole in that hand for the rest of the time on the slopes, but I've done it before, and likely will again. This will probably limit the amount of terrain park I'm willing and able to stomp, so I probably won't see much more injury this trip.
Tonight was burgers on the grill, courtesy of yours truly, who cooked the dickens out of them on the advice of one in our party who insisted that the Mad Cow restrictions in Canadia are much less strict than in the states. Then, straight to the moon-lit slopes for sledding races. I took second place with Sproule in the two-man bobsled, and ended the evening of daring competition with a victory in the single-man skeleton (read: head first sledding), beating the fastest time by a full two seconds.
Tomorrow, after a long day of riding (I plan to get first chair), we're all out for a nice dinner in town, then back here to watch Jackass the movie, smoke Monte Christos, and have some Crown and a soak in the tub. In no particular order.
Eh, we're back to day-to-day events posts. What can I say, I'm on vacation. Brain is turned off.
I'd like to write about the exhilarations I find on skis - the quiet stillness of the air as I fly off the side of a banking slope, adjust position for the new slope, and plummet back towards a soft white terrain with gravitational speed. The cold, loud rush of a million snowflakes to the face and lungs as you fly through chest deep, dry snow, in long, arcing turns that you wish would never come to an end. The heavy breathing and fogging goggles and runny nose and huge grin as you stand exhausted at the bottom of a massive bowl, all alone, knowing you just showed mother nature the power of man. I wish I could convey the sheer joy that overpowers you in the moments like that.
But I can't. So instead I'll watch Howard the Duck and sleep like a rock. Pictures (not enough) are being taken, I hope to begin posting soon upon my return this weekend.
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