I made it back in one piece. Yes! Those of you who have been following my snow quest need no synopsis, so you can just skip ahead. Those who need a synopsis should really read my fucking blog on a regular basis–skim down and get to it, but don’t waste my fucking time or bandwidth. Still too lazy? Ok I went skiing on Sunday…bitch.
The alarm woke me at 6:15 AM. The ski hill was some 2 hours away, and we needed to get up early, grab those showers, and get ready to go. I looked upon this waking ritual as more of a comparision to one who’d be getting electrocuted later during the day.
And then my last supper.
This particular morning’s shave was exquisite; the shower was refreshing–after all 6AM is just too early to be up in the morning. I don’t quite understand how regular folk get their asses out of bed, but I’ve zero motivation to do that on any day, let alone the day that I’m going to hit the slopes for the first time, in years; and my last supper was really my last breakfast, and fuck it was good.
I’ve been quite motivated to start working out and get back into the regime of health and all that nonsense that I tended to ignore during the earlier parts of my life…as a result of this “spontaneous” health kick I’ve been eating shitloads (i.e. a lot you ignorant freak,) and I’ve spent much of my time dreaming about food and the next meal I’m going to eat. Well the night before my trip was no different.
I went to bed early (around 3AM) and dreamed of 2 fried eggs sunny side up, beans, steamed tomatoes, cooked ham, cooked calabrese, and sauteed potatoes. I nearly woke up in the middle of my sleep to just make it…fuck I’m getting hungry now too…The morning after my shave and shower I was in the kitchen cooking up a storm–yes, in the nude. One might think that this would be enjoyable for my live in girlfriend, but she’s usually not impressed when I do this, however she did find it amusing when I burned myself cooking bacon. My last breakfast was going to be the all and it of everything that ever was…I was not disappointed–after all I’m a pretty fucking good cook, I haven’t killed anyone I know.
I got dressed and waited with my live in girlfriend for our ride. He was very nice, and very on time–so I gave him the prize of very bad coffee. Hey, I can cook, but coffee–forget about it.
We loaded up the Golf with 2 snowboards, 1 pair of skis, 4 people and my lunch, and we were off. We stuffed the women in the back with the equipment and both the driver and I sat up front, in different seats mind you. I was in charge of the tapes this time, there would be none of Gordon’s shenanigans fucking around with the cassette player while driving and nearly killing us.
We ended up leaving around 8Am
(Insert Batman like transition here)
2 hours later we’re in Tremblant, but Gray Rocks is no where to be found…oh sure, we can see it in the near just beyond some pine trees, but we just can’t seem to get there. The directions these assholes gave us are completely false, or fraudulent. What gives with that? Way to treat your customers…mind you with Mont Tremblant looming not 10 minutes away you’d wonder why anyone was going to head to Gray Rocks at all.
We finally get there, and pile outta the car, and I’ve gotta piss like a mad-cow diseased race horse that collapses just two feet from the finish line in a puddle of it’s on urine, completely soaking its rider. The chalet’s just too damn far, and I’m too bundled up for the long walk over there. I choose to piss on the ground next to the car…the driver shoo’s me to behind the mock stable in front of which we parked. I have to trudge through 3 feet of snow to get to my pissing ground. Relief was all mine…my piss took so long it was almost shameful that I didn’t have any i’s or t’s in my name. Whenever I go through abnormally long periods of time without taking a piss I tend to time it and that one was a doozey taking nearly 26 seconds in all!
This piss timing was started by a long ago friend, long ago. We–that is the geekiest of geeks–all huddled over at my friend Chris’s place to watch movies. We’d had quite the festival of flicks, mostly of the Evil Dead / Day of the Dead genre slasher trasher flicks…nothing too splatterpunk. The night was long, and movies, chips and Coke were plentiful. We were wired all night. Naturally many of us took pisses along the way, but not one man. He was destined to set the record, and forever have me timing my piss. He was Shane–named after the movie, since his parents enjoyed it so much. Anyway when Shane got up to take a leak he was barely able to contain himself. He cautiously stepped to the bathroom and pissed the piss that would set the standard for all future pisses to be had by just about anyone. He was clocked at 1 minute 6 seconds. My dream is to be that good at something…but then I suppose I’d have to get out of my freakin’ igloo and buy a heater to thaw out my brain.
Piss done, zipper done up, and my penis free from zipper damage I headed to the chalet / lodge carrying equipment with the rest of them. So we go in to register, but first we have to chop through the fucking thicket of madness that is the YMCA registration process. Hint: Ski with the YMCA for their prices, NOT for their organizational skills.
YMCA registration process = free for all, bring a machette.
That finally done, I have to wait for the bus to take me to the rental shop. That wasn’t much of an ordeal unless you consider the whiny-never-before-skied-bitch-i’d-like-to-kick-you-in-the-mouth with her three whorlet children, mouthing off at the rental people, pushing around her 300+ lbs. Fuck you. I wanted to take a pin and see if there really is nothing inside the pupil of our eyes…so she leaves…yay for me. I get my skis, and my boots. Since when I’d last skied I woke in the hospital I’d been wisely cautioned to take a pair of shorter skis than I thought I would need. Back in the day I started skiing on 170’s and ended on 185’s…so I took 150’s.
And then it was back on the bus. Just to be an anus I sat all the way that the back and farted really loudly. We get back to the hill, and I’m just in time to see my girlfriend. We both opt out of the YMCA’s 1 hr ski clinic, which would have wasted even more time. It was 11AM by this time, I’d been up since 6, and the only thing I’d achieved was eating a great breakfast, eating a salami sandwich, and pissing behind a makeshift barn; it was essentially now or never.
We grabbed the first ski lift up. Ever have sex in a ski lift?
Neither have I. Just the thought of it turns me on. The mechanics however, are somewhat difficult to work out, but the danger points are there for sure.
At the top I realize that the mountain is way higher than I’d like it to be, and it’s way steeper than I want it to be. Clearly there is a gap larger than the top of the mountain to it’s base in my mind, keeping me from starting.
I had flashed to my first time skiing at Mont Habitant. That was unnerving too, but I managed to do it, and I was 16 at the time. All I needed to do was think positive. Think of something that would move me forward and then suddenly my ski began to move…or maybe it was just me…moving forward slowly at first then crawling then faster and faster and faster, and I’m thinking shit, I’m one dead motherfucker.
The only think I could think of was that I needed to break out of my funk and edge before I hit something and then Gloria Gaynor appeared from the trees, arms outstretched wearing nothing but an orange thong…
What the fuck is that cocaine adled freak doing doing here? I thought to myself, and then I was somewhere I’d never been before, seeing things I never needed to see before, knowing that I was going to accelerate and most likely die. I guess I just needed something to hold on to…
At first I was afraid, I was petrified
Kept thinkin’ I could never ski without poles by my side
Because I spent so many nights thinkin’ how I hit that tree
And I grew strong and I learned how to see ahead o’ me
And so I’m back from my igloo
I just dropped in to find out if I’m man enough to hit this space
I should have kept the front door locked, I should have never rented skis
If I’d have known for just one second I’d have to dodge some trees
(1) Go on now, go ski some more
Just edge that corner slowly ‘cause you’re not the shit anymore
Weren’t you the one who tried to land a daffy
Did you think I’d stumble, did you think I’d break my neck and die
(2) Oh, no, not I-I will survive
Oh, as long as I know how to edge I know I’ll stay alive
I’ve got all my life to live and I’ve got all my love to give
And I’ll survive, I will survive, hey, hey
shoosh (edging noises), shoosh (edging noises)
It took all the strength I had not to fall apart
Kept tryin’ hard to mend the pieces of my broken head
And I spent, oh, so many nights just feeling sorry for myself
I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high
And you see me, somebody new
I’m not that chained up little person afraid to ski on you
And so you see me droppin’ in and just expect me to ski
Now I’m savin’ all my edgin’ for a mount e’er worthy o’ me
[Repeat 1 , 2]
[Repeat 1 , 2]
[Repeat 1 , 2]
I edged! Narrowly missing the tree from behind which Gloria came. And I zipped off. I was in control. I turned back to wave thanks to Gloria just in time to see someone coming around the corner with a little too much air performing a helicopter, that took her head off.
I was in control.
The rest of the day was spent going completely whack-o on the hill. I had an incredible time. Probably hit about 18 runs, and I was even adventurous enough to go mogul bashing…mmm now that was fun. I still need a little more work on my form, but considering that I haven’t really skied in 12 or so years I think it’ll come with a bit more practice. The form is near, and I’ve definitely got my ski legs back.
So much so that I’m going to Mont Tremblant this coming Saturday armed with confidence and the support of my live in girlfriend.
Thanks Ms. Gaynor…now get the fuck out of my head.