A ski trip:

We stayed the night before at the "Little America" hotel. The decor reminded me of the Gobbler, but pulled back from that hideous (wonderful?) chasm of camp at the last minute to lie panting and spent on the banal ground. It looked as though the 70s had vomited on the 80s. Lonnie said it cost $70 a night, which made me feel guilty because I wasn't paying, couldn't really have paid and didn't pay for anything. I still feel guilty. In fact, I haven't properly thanked him for the trip because I feel guilty abut it having been paid for.

We started driving up to the resorts at 7 am in a pouring rain, certain the trip would be cancelled because of the poor conditions. I was nervous about going. I had slept poorly, dreaming about a bicycle race I forgot I had entered but still had to ride. I didn't have my cleated shoes, just Chuck T's. Competing would be impossible but I had to go on.

We arrived at Deer Valley early. I took a nap and listened to the snow cats going up and down the mountain, grooming. Clouds sat about the resort, and snow fell from them like oobleck. I wondered about what the day would bring, and if I was a match for whatever that would be. I was glad I had my lucky hat that Mo made for me. I woke up when the guides came in.

The guides briefed us about what to expect. 50 mph winds, heavy snowfall, poor snow conditions, route closures. It was unlikely that we would be able to complete all six resorts. Refunds could be made, dates rescheduled. Lonnie asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I was inclined to reschedule, but that I would ski anything. People started dropping out, and then suddenly I wanted to go. To show my mettle, maybe. I don't know. I signed the waiver voluntarily assuming the risk of personal injury or death. On the back where it said "in case of emergency please contact _________", I put "a priest". Everyone was nervous. The guides explained what to do in an avalanche and gave us our beacons that would let them find our bodies under the snow.

And then up the hill we went. On our first traverse my face froze solid, then the wind plastered the foreign edifice with snow. I lost feeling in my fingertips. It was cold. We sidestepped up the mountain, one ski after the other in a rhythm I would come to know well. If the day was going to be like this I doubted I could finish even the four passes that were still open to us. Finally, we reached the top of the ridge where we turned behind a drift and onto a cat track. Suddenly the wind was gone. We never saw it again for the rest of the day. Ducking under the out of bound ropes, we skied into the back country.

I'm not sure what it is or how to explain it, but there is something about a steep, wide hill, covered and made smooth as milk in a glass by snow, that is not simply exciting to me like an undiscovered country, but compelling and nearly religious. After all the hiking and the work, you're here. And down below you and all around is this marvel of nature. It's been here forever, waiting for just you. Waiting to challenge just you, and to lift just you by this challenge on its frosted wings, if you're good enough.

Two pitches like this down steep faces buried in powder and through copses of aspen, silent and elegant, then a long traverse to the next, and as it turned out, last resort. All the back country ways out were closed, and so we could ski here or take a shuttle to the next place. After one run we were convinced, and the guides showed us the wonders of Solitude, Utah.

It was a great resort made greater by the knowledge of our guides. Lonnie and I agreed we would never have found any of the places we ended up skiing that day on our own. I have never skied past so many warning signs with not just diamonds but fricking skulls on them before in my life. "Danger! Cliff Area!" "Danger! Expert Area Only!" "Danger! Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here!"

I was pushed to the edge of my abilities and off of cliffs into some wonderful places to ski. Fifty degree pitches choked with rocks and trees and banded by cliff walls, emptying into beautiful, knee deep powder buckets. Long, narrow traverses with dizzying exposures on both sides, leading to untracked, wide open steeps. I was exhilarated, I was scared, I got tired, I fell a lot, I survived. It was an epic day.