It would be reasonable to say that I am bruised and broken. Or at least it would be if I was a normal human being that could actually bruise. In that case, I would assume that my entire body would be covered in purple and you would all be calling me Barney. Instead, I’m just broken.
Saturday night started out like most of my Saturday nights do, a glass of bourbon and my Surface to see where church is going to be held. KB is sitting on the couch and we discuss Sunday’s plans. The usual suspects have begun to chatter about where, when and what. And then KB throws me a curve ball and mentions that Brother and Sister Meinkey are heading up to Eagle Point for some white fun.
KB is a snowboarder. In the past seven years since she has known me she has gone twice. One of those time was last weekend. She has always tried to get me to go snowboarding and I’ve always found a reason to not go.
I’m not a snowboarder or skier. As ironic as that may seem being from Utah, the best time to ride in SG is during the same months when the white stuff is occupying the mountains and the desert is cool. Hence, I always rode while others were bombing down the slopes. The last time I went to a ski resort in the winter time, I did snowboard. That was well over a decade ago.
Somehow I ended up agreeing to go to Eagle Point.
I must be honest, I was a little excited to give the board a go. I’ve always had plenty of friends that rode the white stuff and I would be lying if I said I never felt left out as they headed to the resorts for some playing. I would also be lying if I said I wasn’t a little anxious about how this whole thing was going to end. But then again, if you don’t feel sore after the weekend you’re doing something wrong. Full steam ahead.
The day started out as beautiful as they get.
We picked up Brother Crane and then headed north. When we hit Leeds, a lightbulb appeared above Ben’s head and he asked, “Are you renting?” I replied, “Yes. I don’t have a board.” At which point we flipped a perfect 180 right there on the I-15 and headed south back to the Crane residence where a “loaner” board and boots were procured.
Back to the North!
I’m sitting outside the lodge staring at the ski rack sipping bourbon from my flask. I’m essentially having a pity party. After my second run which involved two hard hits, I had thrown in the towel. I’m accustomed to suffering through things; riding, backpacking, rowing, whatever, I have no problem pushing through the pain. The problem this time is I have no motivation. I don’t see anything fun or rewarding on the other side. So I sit there and drink. Until I remembered why I had come on this trip in the first place, KB loves to snowboard.
The rest of the group finds their way back to the lodge and we get a table for lunch. At this point I’m ready to give it another go. We finish up lunch and I strap the boots back on and KB and I head back to the bunny slope.
And then I fell down the mountain repeatedly. KB just cruised down the slope in head of me stopping so she could watch the shit show of me somersaulting down the hill. Repeatedly.
Apparently there is a muscle that runs from your lower stomach up through your ribs and to your shoulders. At least there must be as every time I twist I can feel a shot of pain that engulfs my entire mid-section. My neck? Yes, my neck is sore. I guess the muscles were strained as I had to keep my head from smacking the ground every time I went down. Which probably accounts for the sore triceps as well, that or having to pick myself up so many times.
Did I learn to snowboard? Fuck no. Will I try it again? Only if KB asks me to…
If we were to judge this weekend by how sore I feel then it was a damn good one. Unfortunately, I’m not sure that is a good metric, at least this time.
Now I’m gonna go ride and see if I can loosen up some of these muscles I didn’t know I had.
P. L. and R.
