Snow Skiing-In Order of Humiliations

I was just out in my tool shed looking through some old cottage cheese containers which I use to hold nails, nuts, washers, bolts, and screws etc. I learned of this storage technique from the old man who lived behind me named Swede. He was a course speaking old man with a temper, but I was the only person he had for a son, so he put up with me. Swede taught me many things about hunting, fishing, bee keeping, and gardening, and he kept every spare nut, bolt, and washer in cottage cheese containers in his shed.  I inherited them when he died. My only complaint was that he never would wash out the containers before he would fill them with stuff and today, I am trying to find one 3/8-16 x 3.5” bolt as I hold my breath while rummaging through one rancid cottage cheese container after another.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two life jackets lying on the floor under the loft. Those blasted raccoons. Every time they get up there in the winter to stay warm, they rearrange their living space and toss out everything they don’t need. Well excuse me for being an intolerant landlord but leave my junk alone!

 I moved the ladder over to the loft and picked up the life jackets to return them to their storage. Always wary that there may still be a raccoon or two still up in the loft, I normally put on a hockey goalie’s face mask which I keep hanging on a nail and I try to go up the ladder slowly while making noise so they can have time to hide. Once when going up into the loft unannounced, I startled a family of raccoons who got angry and chased me around the shed. I thought it was very unprofessional of them not to show me the same courtesy and give me a chance to hide.

This day though, the raccoons were gone, and I threw the life jackets over to the far end of the loft floor. And then I spotted them . . . the Head- Killy 800s with Look Nevada bindings. My snow skis from the 60’s. Head Skis named them after Jean Claude Killy, a French skiing wonder who won 3 Gold medals in the 1968 Olympics.

They were long. When you stood them up on their tails, I could hold my arm straight up over my head and the tips would touch my wrist. Not like those sissy hour-glass shaped skis of today which stand no more than four feet long. Oh, the bittersweet memories with those skis. If they could talk, the stories they would tell. Maybe that is why I keep them locked in the shed lying in the loft; I am afraid of the stories they could tell. Talking to my lawyer, we have decided that it would be better for me to explain the humiliations to you rather than to risk the skis sending a story to the Enquirer. The following are a list of skiing humiliations from least to worst:

• Bridge Diving: This involved going too fast down a trail to cross an upcoming bridge. A  mother and young son were approaching the bridge ahead of me but they were skiing in the center of the bridge so I thought I would pass them on their left. At the last possible moment as I was about to pass them on the bridge, they decided to ski to the left side of the bridge which left me no place to go, so I dove headfirst off the bridge into a snow bank down below. I got stuck headfirst with only my skis waving in the air. The lady yells, “Don’t ski so fast!” and leaves me to dig myself out. That one could have been fatal.

• Teaching Skiing: I took a friend to Canada to night ski. I was trying to teach him the basics, so we skied to a large bowl. Down in the bowl there was only one skier, only one skier. The bowl was enormous. I explained the best route to ski which would be easiest. I am proud to say that he did indeed ski into the bowl and even though the lone skier tried to create a moving target, my friend was able to ski right over the top of the poor guy’s skis.  I liken him to a heat seeking missile.  I also took my daughter to Canada for her first-time skiing. We went to the top of the bunny run rope tow. I explained to her the basics of parallel, snowplow, stem Christie, snowplow, snowplow, and snowplow. She pushed off, in a bobsled death run position sliding full speed downhill toward a mass of skiers waiting in the rope tow line. What is a father to do? I skied behind her yelling, “Snowplow! Snowplow!” but she was in terror mode. So, to save the masses, I body slammed her. She has since lost interest in skiing.

• Heavy snow the night before always got me: The attendant was trying to dig out the bottom of the chair lift so the chairs would clear the deep snow. I was the first in line with many more behind me waiting. When he thought it was safe to get on the chair, (I would like to point out that he was judging an empty chair height above the snow not a loaded chair) he allowed me to load. The chair took off and with the weight of two skiers, didn’t even come close to clearing the snow drift in front of it. My ski tips, which I couldn’t lift high enough, stuck into the drift which then pulled me off the front of the chair which then raked up the length of my back before whacking me in the back of my head.

• Another heavy snow incident. I was coming down a run and at the bottom of the hill I saw two of the cheerleaders from my class in high school. They were putting on their skis in front of what appeared to be a packed drift. What an opportunity to show off my superb snow jumping ability. I pointed my skis straight down hill to get maximum speed off the jump. I remember as I sped by that I saluted the girls. I crouched to hit the jump which wasn’t a jump, merely a drift of new snow. My skis shot straight into the drift and my body slammed to a stop. I can remember the wind being knocked out of my lungs. I also remember my goggles continuing their forward momentum out approximately three feet beyond my head before making the return trip back to slap me in the face. The girls weren’t impressed.

• Tee Bars: Why aren’t there directions for tee bars? Why would you expect someone who has only ridden a chair lift to know how a tee bar functions? A tee bar functions like a combination of a rope tow and a chair lift. The tee comes around the towers like a chair, but the tee goes underneath your butt, and the cable retracts until it reaches its limit and then pulls you up the hill. Your skis stay on the surface like a rope tow. My first experience with the cursed contraption came after waiting through a long line of skiers. We skied into position as the tee came around. The operator positioned the bar behind our upper legs and we both then sat down, which the operator was yelling at us not to do because the cable extracts all the way out and you fall flat on your back. Then as the tow continues up hill and the cable is fully extracted, it pulls the tee out from under your legs tearing your skis off and the long line of skiers behind you get a great laugh.

• Going for the ride: I have saved the greatest humiliations for last. My dad had an 8mm movie camera which had a key wind on the side, no batteries were needed. I was on a chair alone. The movie camera was in its leather case which hung from a strap around my neck. The strap was just long enough to allow the camera to hang out between the slats of the seat and the back rest. When I got off the chair at the top of the hill and started to ski away, I felt something grab me from behind and then up in the air I flew. The camera was hung up on the chair lift and the strap was carrying me aloft. I actually made it to the roundabout before the strap broke and dropped me to the ground.

• During certain conditions, snow will stick and build up on the bottom of your ski boots. If you are not aware that this has happened, when you snap into the ski bindings, the bindings do not close completely and therefore are not locked. This makes for a dangerous situation since when you hop onto the chair for a ride to the top, at some point, your skis drop off and land somewhere in the snow below. That leaves you with no alternative but to stay on the chair and ride it back to the bottom. Depending on the length of the chair lift, you will have the opportunity to wave at a few hundred skiers coming up the lift in the opposite direction.

• Lastly is what I like to call the “Getting to know you” ride. This involves making it to the front of the chair lift line as a single and pairing up with another single you most likely do not know. When you get into position for the chair, if you are on the right side of the chair, you grab the center pole of the chair with your left hand and pull yourself onto the seat. If you are on the left side of the chair, you grab the center pole with your right hand to pull yourself onto the seat. But if you are not paying attention and you are sitting on the left side and grab the center pole with your left hand, you pull yourself onto the lap of the skier in the right seat. This indeed makes for an awkward quarter mile ride and after five minutes you have completely run out of things to talk about.

I have since given up skiing, not because it is not a fun sport but because I am an old man whose knees don’t work well and whose butt doesn’t have enough muscle to absorb the shock of crashing anymore.

Currently, I am playing a sport using only one pole and I have found it to be much less painful . . . shuffleboard.

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