There are two types of fear a man can face in life: the fear of what he is about to do and the fear of what may happen. The former a man must work himself to enter into, the latter a man must work himself to escape from. But sometimes, in some situations, there is no predicting the future and there is no escape.
And so I found myself being dragged uphill by a small piece of plastic tucked behind my legs, tethered to a cable by a thin piece of bungee, not knowing if I would live or die. It turns out Rachel and I would survive, but only after one crash which thankfully spared the pair being dragged precariously uphill behind us. The "t-bar," as this ridiculous means of transportation is known, is supposed to bring you from the bottom of the slope to the top via a simple hook and pull mechanism whereby you hook a bar of plastic behind your legs and let it pull you forward praying in its stability. Most of the time it works, some of the time it does not, and all of the time you are given no warning as to whether or when the bar will gave way and you will be dispatched out onto the snow and into the path of other slowly dragging t-barers. The particularly unlucky are then honored with becoming human speed bumps which then result in the additional demise of those immediately behind them and so on and so forth until the dog pile of skiers and snowboarders manages to clear itself from the path or the whole pile reaches critical mass triggering an avalanche of snow and tangled bodies. Of course the best fails are the epic fails where a new skier first attempts the t-bar by sitting on the plastic wedge, something it is entirely not designed for, and so splays himself out onto the snow only 10 feet from the bottom station and lines of onlookers. I hate the t-bar, it is crap.
And so I found myself being dragged uphill by a small piece of plastic tucked behind my legs, tethered to a cable by a thin piece of bungee, not knowing if I would live or die. It turns out Rachel and I would survive, but only after one crash which thankfully spared the pair being dragged precariously uphill behind us. The "t-bar," as this ridiculous means of transportation is known, is supposed to bring you from the bottom of the slope to the top via a simple hook and pull mechanism whereby you hook a bar of plastic behind your legs and let it pull you forward praying in its stability. Most of the time it works, some of the time it does not, and all of the time you are given no warning as to whether or when the bar will gave way and you will be dispatched out onto the snow and into the path of other slowly dragging t-barers. The particularly unlucky are then honored with becoming human speed bumps which then result in the additional demise of those immediately behind them and so on and so forth until the dog pile of skiers and snowboarders manages to clear itself from the path or the whole pile reaches critical mass triggering an avalanche of snow and tangled bodies. Of course the best fails are the epic fails where a new skier first attempts the t-bar by sitting on the plastic wedge, something it is entirely not designed for, and so splays himself out onto the snow only 10 feet from the bottom station and lines of onlookers. I hate the t-bar, it is crap.
T-bar related anxieties aside, our most recent trip to Breckenridge, Colorado, was nice, and, as all trips with the Gravels are now required to be, full of Yorkies. We met up with some friends Adam and Kate, threw their kids down some hills on some sleds, had some crepes, and called it a week. I finally graduated to the bowls, and the one day we went was of course the one day with no visibility. The sky was white, the ground was white, the snow was white. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. We nevertheless jumped in and after a series of falls and a series of prolonged slides it turned out I was at the bottom. The trick, I found, is believing in yourself. And going very, very slowly.
There were also no casualties this time. No butt lacerations or face planting snow shoe misadventures. I did, however, lose my wallet on the very first day to my old nemesis, Frosty's Freeway. One spill and it was gone. I then got to spend the rest of the trip living on food stamps and Paul and Rachel's generosity. I will have my revenge, though, oh yes, I will have my revenge. I just need to figure out how.
Anyways, here's what snow looks like.
There were also no casualties this time. No butt lacerations or face planting snow shoe misadventures. I did, however, lose my wallet on the very first day to my old nemesis, Frosty's Freeway. One spill and it was gone. I then got to spend the rest of the trip living on food stamps and Paul and Rachel's generosity. I will have my revenge, though, oh yes, I will have my revenge. I just need to figure out how.
Anyways, here's what snow looks like.
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