Sometimes, ideally all the time, I come home after snowboarding and relax by writing it all down. I don’t really pay attention to which parts were boring and which parts were exciting; I just want to capture the minutiae that made the day the day that it was. For me, this is also a good way to figure out how to tell the story before I blab about it out loud to other people in a way that makes no sense.
You should know that this season is severely lacking snow, not as bad as California, but pretty bad. It’s mostly just myself my musing and I out there and whomever I’m carpooling and thus spending the day with. It’s a good way to meet awesome, like minded people. At the same time, the people who like the mountains are a diverse crowd.
If I leave feeling calm or excited though, it was a good day. And I’ve never regretted a day on the mountain!
Three people arrived one day, only to find The Shittiest Slope In Existence ®. Who had the shorter end of the stick? The
Shittiest Slope In Existence ® had made the miraculous journey out of 100 mm of rain, only to serve monstrously grumpy skiiers and riders. The skiier and riders had only gotten into their mud splattered on their cars and cursed every bump in the road that was now filled with puddles. When they got there they found out that the brown on the slopes was not from their tinted lenses. One demand not being enough, the people also demanded that The Shittiest Slope In Existence ® also exist in a microclimate.
This story sucks, so it has to end here.
There was a moment on The Shittiest Slope In Existence ® last Wednesday where a cold and cutting wind drove the relentless but harmless rain into our faces. That was probably 2pm, and, after one of our group members had left, there was little reason to pretend the reward for sublime devotion was anything but. There was undoubtedly unused adrenaline running through our veins; our minds were ready even though the slope was not. Our bodies response was to make a crisis when there wasn’t one.
Even though it was the polar opposite of a sun breaking free from a jail of cloud, the sudden onslaught of cold woke us up and fulfilled our thirst. This is why we liked to snowboard. More often than not, we hope for an adrenaline rush fuelled adventure, but when there isn’t one, we are capable of creating one, too. It may just be a brush of wind, but it’s that cold and wet that we cling to, that sense of adventure. It was also the reason why I started to doubt alpine snowboarding; I was creating so much adrenaline out of what was probably very little it was getting tiring. All this energy had nowhere to go. In comparison, I was fairly guaranteed that I would run out of energy before I finished my journey in the beginner backcountry. Sometimes not: things happen at a slow measured pace there, and there’s no quick release of energy for practicing tricks, being fancy, being fresh. On a hard trip, there’s no room to waste energy that couldn’t otherwise be saved for the future. So while the harder trip may use up all your energy, there’s still that unfulfilled yearning to just spend an entire day goofing around + learn a new move. The trouble is when the weather doesn’t match your level of adrenaline and you go home and lie around unable to sleep, tortured by wakefulness.
Time to get a new hobby!