Skies Don't Work on Pavement, I Would Know

From Crested Butte

I didn't have any drink to spill on myself so I decided to get road rash instead.

Each day we walked up the street to this cut out in the snow and skied down “homeowner” to the Gold Link Lift. It was as ski in/ski out as you can get in my book. When we were done for the day we skied down “homeowner”, found the UT flag David had put out marking our exit and skied right up to the street. Every day except yesterday it was perfect, I skied to the cut out in the snow, angled my skies down and slid onto the snow covered street and skied down to the house and practically into the garage. It was so fun I could hardly contain my excitement. I had never been to a place where you skied right up to your front door!

Yesterday however was not like the other days. It was warmer and most of the snow had melted off the street. So as I came around the curve and up to the cut out in the snow, I noticed it was a steep drop, the snow plows had pushed the snow from the street to the edges so there was a steep drop off, then the street which was bare of snow. I poked my skies out over the built up snow edge right before the street and thought to myself, “How can I ski down to the house so I don’t have to walk?” Then it comes to me, I decided I would just ease my skies down the snow, make a sharp right onto the side of the road where there was still snow and ski down to the garage. It was a perfect plan.

So I went for it; I lean my skies down and slide off the edge, but before I can turn right I slid directly onto the street and my skies come to a sharp halt. My upper body keeps moving forward and since my legs are frozen to the ground because skies don’t actually work on pavement, I proceeded to fly forward. I caught myself with my hands just before my face got cozy with the street. So here is the visual, my legs are sprawled out, I am laying face down on the pavement and my arms out I like just scored a soccer goal. My poles are wrapped around my wrists so they are pointing outward, one ski had popped off and the other was attached and at a 90 degree angle to my leg. Karen, my friend I was, with wanted to laugh but was worried I had done some serious damage to my face. “Are you ok,” she asks. As I pushed myself up with my hands I shout back, “yea, I’m fine.” I pick myself back up, get my skies on and make my way down the street, on the snowy part. I look back at Karen who, after seeing me face plant it on the street, has decided to take her skies off and walk. I am laughing hysterically at myself and yell back at Karen, “I’m glad you didn’t have the camera out!”

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