Snow rage

By the time I saw him, it was too late.

There I was, minding my own business, picking my way down a moderate blue bump run one minute, and doing the funky fandango in the arms of a perfect stranger the next.

As if the sudden reversal in direction wasn’t enough of a surprise, I was now going backwards downhill, goggles to goggles, with a panic-stricken Kansas City Chiefs fan in a paralyzed freefall. With his arms encircling mine in a deadlock bearhug, I was rendered helpless like some sort of crash test Susie Chapstick. All I could do was pray that my newly rehabbed $20,000 ACL would withstand the impending impact.

As one can imagine, there was little time for formal introductions as we skipped right to small talk. “Oh! … whoa … s… s … sorry … didn’t see … golly … noooo!” he said in a most gentlemanly twang before promptly landing on top of me in a bit of a compromising position.

As luck would have it, there was a little fresh snow that day and no one was out to set a new land speed record. The chance encounter was more of an awkward dalliance than a catastrophic affair. When our impromptu lambada abruptly ended, there was no sickening “pop” in the knee, and other than a few bruised egos, we were more shaken than stirred.

“Huh, huh … well, I sure am sorry … ,” the embarrassed man stammered as we untangled limbs, skis and poles, happy to be bidding an amicable adieu with no broken bones.

Hours later, I would regale my fellow ski bums in the outrageous tale of the tourist who tackled me on the mountain, able to laugh it off over a few after-work shifters. As for the Big Chief, I’m sure he would have a similarly entertaining après-tale of his run-in with the hippie girl on the weird skinny contraptions.

Knock on wooden skis, but that was nearly two decades ago, and I am happy to report, that was my first and last on-snow collision (the knee has miraculously held out, too, double knock.) This, in itself, is quite a remarkable feat taking into account the hundreds of resort days I’ve logged in those fleeting 20 years. Especially given my recent reintroduction to the lackadaisical and oft unpredictable world of greens and blues, courtesy my two young skiing protégées.

And while there is nothing more enjoyable than watching the fruits of one’s misspent 20s schussmarking down the slopes, it is not without its fair share of anxiety. Maybe it’s maternal paranoia getting the best of me, or the grim reality that I have reached middle age and am no longer invincible, but over the last few years, resort skiing has become a bit stressful. Sure, the evolution of gear has helped feed this speed-induced anxiety, not to mention the whole “extreme” in-your-face mindset that goes along with it. And I’m pretty sure the fact that 50 percent of my fellow skiers are actually blaring tunes directly into their helmets and/or have the attention spans of fruit flies doesn’t help my unease.

See, I can’t help thinking that every other rider and skier lurking out there is like the Big Chief, but suffering from an overdose of machismo and Rockstar. Ready to come crashing in on our idyllic little scene at a moment’s notice, flattening my snowplowers like a runaway truck.

Over the last few years, I have assumed more of what you might call a “defensive skiing” strategy. This typically involves hulking over my younguns like a NFL linebacker, blocking any would-be interlopers into our personal-space bubble. Mostly, any ne’er-do-wells are deflected with my eagle evil eye, able to penetrate even the most egregious obliv-iots. There have been words, at times, and I am not opposed to dropping the Grandoes, if need be.

Which, I will be the first to admit, is a shame. Because, it wasn’t too long ago that skiing was supposed to be fun and relaxing, not a nail-biting, death-defying game of thread the needle.

And again, maybe it’s just me, but it sure seems that at least some of this neurosis is merited. In the last few months, there have been a handful of deaths attributed to reckless skiing/boarding at resorts throughout the country, with just as many incidents of serious injury – the most recent of which occurred on our home turf. But this one hit even a little closer to home: the 49-year-old woman who was taken out is a friend, neighbor and fellow kindergarten mom. I have seen the disfigured black and blue hand emerging from the elbow-high cast and the swollen, gimpy knee for myself – and it’s not pretty.

In fact, it’s safe to say the whole incident was ugly and unfortunate. As for the victim, in addition to coming to grips with the depressing end to her season, she has pulled her daughter from ski lessons and sworn off the resort for now, possibly forever. Which, I guess is one solution to the problem – take yourself out of the game before someone else does, again.

But perhaps there is a better solution than the current state of reckless detachment. For starters, whatever happened to a little common courtesy? (Hey, I said I was getting old.) And by that I don’t mean, “yes, ma’am,” “no ma’am” – I mean slowing down and taking the ear buds out, or at least turning the level down to where you can hear yourself think. And if you are lucky enough to happen upon a wide, open, empty run, by all means let ’er rip. But remember, humans are not gates, and as much fun as it is to haul ass past the unsuspecting person below you, who may or may not be God’s gift to skiing, please resist the temptation. Oh, and god forbid something should malfunction, make sure you can stop in a timely fashion.

As much as I hate to recommend more policing for anything, in some situations it makes sense. If I can get a ticket for reckless driving for totaling my own car (purely accidental), then doesn’t it make sense I should get one for totaling another skier, albeit also unintentional? Yes, that raises the problem of more personnel for an already-strapped ski area, but I am sure there are more than a few locals who would be happy to don the yellow jacket a few days a year in exchange for a seasons pass. And a little orange fencing can go a long way toward keeping people from the red zonr.

Sure, we can all respect the need for speed, but let’s respect each other first and foremost. And in the unfortunate event you do have to put the bearhug on somebody, do it with a smile.

– Missy Votel