Me going slow, being safe
We were herded to a locker room and issued rental skis, which should have come with last rites or at least a short term coverage plan of some sort. Since husband and I had no experience on skis, we were ordered to the beginners class being taught on a small rise just outside the lodge. People were lined up at the windows having their hot mugs and enjoying the stand-up/fall-down comic revue. We were the only mature adults having to endure this humiliation; however, neither of us could fake our way through the day without instruction. As we executed the basics, the children needed little help; we however had to have our poles extricated from each other. Husband had stuck his pole through the hole in my pole...he lives to embarrass me. Oh married people, must you be so symbolic? The teacher declared that in all her years of teaching she had never encountered that particular problem. When we finally received clearance to try the "Bunny Slope," the teacher waved goodbye, or crossed herself, I couldn't tell which.
Husband spears my pole and we flunk beginners class
The recent thaw on the trail had added a delightful thin layer of pure ice, ensuring that our descent would be lightning fast and thrilling. First there was the lift, a novelty to us. It stopped, we boarded. One would naturally assume this process to be mirror imaged...stopping, disembarking. No. We were ordered to jump off as it slowed - two brittle-boned seniors - and gun it down the ice-covered Bunny Trail with our recent instruction still searching for a permanent repository in our brains, soon to sport concussions. The lift slowed, we jumped, fell sprawling onto the ice and were followed by nice people who scooped our abraded bodies up to a standing position. How can this get any worse? Read on.
Who in their right minds would let us do this?
As we gazed down the first slope, we noticed it snaked through a pretty stand of forest trees covered in ice. It was truly a Christmas card. I began my herringbone descent finding some soft snow on the sides. Husband, being the daring one, fearlessly sailed ahead. In our class, it was discovered that husband was only gifted to turn right. No matter what the teacher told him, he turned right. (He has this problem dancing too.) Happily the first curve on the trail turned right. As he sailed forth, Husband overdid his right turn and slowly plowed directly through a thicket and into the woods. Being helpless to save him, I summoned a more experienced skier in our party, who found him with poles flailing and both skis planted firmly under a log. Freed from his predicament and uninjured, we continued on with me cautiously herringboning and Husband giving all to sport.
When we finally reached the flats, I tried skiing and was doing bravely when wiped out by a preschooler with his sails full in the wind. I looked up from my seat in the snow to see Husband slowly turning right, heading for a ditch where he remained digging furiously with his poles. Oh what fun.
We got those things off and headed for the lodge fireplace where all the sane people were. Husband found a Bubba with a flask and returned to the Bunny Slope to get his money's worth. The last time I saw him from the window in the lodge, he was in the distance slowly turning right.