My friends know about the summer activities I loathe: I’m a lousy swimmer. Camping requires too much planning. Sunning myself at the beach is boring. And of boats, “What is a boat but a prison with a chance of being drowned?” asked writer Samuel Johnson.
So what do I prefer? Winter! It’s time to ski! Almost 82, I managed five runs on a small hill in West Virginia last weekend, but I am certainly slowing down. I hit the slopes maybe 200 to 300 times all over the country for 50 years.
I was never really an expert. When you start at age 29, you worry with every turn about how you will get home if you break your leg. I never did get injured—except inn cross-country skiing when I damaged some ribs. A guide at Aspen took us down an icy road and we were stopped in our tracks when we hit bare pavement.
Why do people ski in the first place? Because it is so much fun when you stop. You retire to an indoor fireplace, have a drink and snacks and chat about all of the horrors you faced: Freezing air, bone-chilling wind and the thrill of risking your life on every mogul.
Some unforgettable moments for me:
—On Jan. 20, 1985, President Reagan’s inaugural parade was cancelled because of the extreme cold. But that didn’t stop me from taking 13-year-old stepson Chris and his friend Joe to Ski Liberty in Pennsylvania. “Well, you promised,” one of them said. It was not crowded at all. It was miserable. One of Chris’ feet was numb for a week.
—One weekend I skied at Mammoth Mountain in California, one of the largest resorts in the country. On a slow weekday, there were only two of us on one wide ski run. Of course, the other skier, a middle-aged beginner, crashed into me and knocked me down. No apology at all.
—I skied in 5-below-zero weather at Stowe resort in Vermont. The instructor made us check for frostbite after every run. They put blankets on top of everyone on the ski lift.
—At one resort I somehow took a lift to the highest peak. The only way down was over a cornice that seemed as vertical as a brick wall. Somehow I managed it.
—One time at Aspen, Colo., I got terribly sick with the flu. Enormous amounts of powder snow fell on the same day. An article in Ski magazine the next year wrote about “The greatest day in the history of skiing.” I missed it!
—You might spend 20 minutes freezing in a lift line to spend only 3 minutes gliding in snow.
—The worst part of skiing is putting on your boots. Or maybe it is driving ridiculous distances to get there. Or maybe spending more than you can afford.
After all this adversity, why did I keep up with this ridiculous sport? I liked:
—Skiing along the top ridge at Heavenly Valley in California, gazing at the deep blue Lake Tahoe below on one side and the arid Carson Valley in Nevada on the other.
—The wonderful feeling of gliding through virgin powder snow as if you were sailing through the air.
—Imagining yourself as Jean-Claude Killy, Picabo Street or Bode Miller as you race through a tough mogul patch in triumph.
—Getting a good workout at a time of year when most people want to vegetate in front of the TV.
I always thought I would have to give up skiing when I got married and had a family. My wife is not a skier. But then I got an idea: Take small children with you and put them in a ski class. Then it becomes a family event. Pickett would come along and spend the weekend in the hot tub.
Then these kids continued skiing as adults and taught it to their kids. I came along too. I have often gone to Sun Valley, Idaho, with Chris, Nina and their four boys. I went with Sara, Lance and their two children to Winterplace, near Blacksburg, last week.
What have I started?
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