Flying Skis

After a long cold day of skiing my son and I were at the mini van hastily preparing for our two and a half hour ride home.  It was freezing out and we were in a hurry…big surprise huh?  I put the skis up on top of the roof rack and my cell phone rings.   I reach into my ski jacket, work through a number of layers and get to the cell phone before it stops ringing.  It’s my bride and she wants to know how things are coming and when she could expect us.  I’m my usual charming self and rush her off the phone.  I race to the back of the van, get my ski boots off and take the rest of my ski clothing off so that I have a comfortable ride home.  We jump back into the van throw on the heat and head out.

I get about a ¼ mile out of the parking lot and question myself…”Did I close down the latches on the ski roof rack?”  I think to myself, “I must have, what kind of a Block Head wouldn’t close the latches down?”  And to reinforce my belief, I’m thinking I probably would have heard the skis rumbling around up there.

I’ve now been driving for about 20 minutes and I’m getting on a significant highway…and its still bugging me.  Did I close the latches?  Now I see a service turn off from the highway.  For a split second I think maybe I should just pull over and check it out to be sure.  Nope, I’lI have none of that.  I’m making good time, its toasty warm in the van now, who needs to stop?  At this point I’m thinking to myself, I’m going over 65 miles an hour, if the skis weren’t locked down, there’s no way they’d be staying on top of the van.  I’m also thinking if they weren’t locked down, I’d be getting the “High-Sign” from other drivers letting me know I had an issue up top.  Kind of like in the movie “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” when John Candy gets onto the highway with Steve Martin going in the wrong direction...and people are trying to warn him by screaming at him, “You’re going the Wrong Way!”  Candy or “Dell Griffith’s” classic return line, “Oh how do they know where we’re going, they’re drunk.”   Seconds later he gets squished between two 18 Wheelers.

We’ve now been driving for 40 minutes.  We’re merging onto a stretch of highway and its six lanes wide now.  If you want to keep up with the 18 Wheelers you need to be going at least 80 miles per hour.  I finally think to myself, “They must be locked down because there’s no way….”

With that last thought I heard “Lift-off”.  I look in the rearview mirror and see four skis bouncing down the highway behind me.  At that point I felt like if I had put myself in the same category with block heads, I’d be insulting the block heads.  The absolutely only saving grace was that I didn’t impale anyone; otherwise this blog would probably have been written from Cell Block C at one of the charm schools in PA.

I pull over to the left hand median.  I tell my son to stay put and I get out of the van and go search for slightly used skis.  I come across my son’s rental skis.  They’re actually still locked together and look pretty good.  Then upon further inspection I notice the back end of the skis are shattered…And that my friends is why we opt for the rental insurance.

My skis were another story.  I run further down the highway and find them.  They’re separated and a couple of lanes deep.  (First, you have to understand I really liked these skis…a lot.  I got them the season after the disintegrating ski boot incident, and they had been bery bery good to me.)   It’s dark, freezing cold, and cars and trucks are whizzing by at mach speeds.  I’m trying to time my run out into traffic to retrieve my property.  What it reminded me of was a Movie from 1999 that starred Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy call, “Bowfinger.”  There is a scene in the movie where Steve Martin is directing a “C” movie. He has Eddie Murphy’s mentally challenged character run back and forth across the LA Freeway, almost giving him a heart attack.  Just as I’m about to make my move, two large Tandem Tractor Trailers run over my skis.  They ran over them so hard, they crushed and ripped the bindings right off the skis.  (So, like the ski boots from a couple of years before, this is a lost cause.) Then naturally I wake up and think, “Oh yeah, I have a wife and two kids; and one of them is a couple of hundred feet up the highway.”  I get back to the van and have a most enjoyable ride home.  (When my son is grown and in therapy, this trip will be talked about in great detail.)

The first guy I went to for new skis lost the sale because he couldn’t  keep the smirk off his face.

Biting Off More Mountain than You can Chew

The ski mountain we usually go to in the northern Pocono's went belly up a couple of years ago.  So we tried a new place outside of Scranton, PA.

Figuring out the parking and how to get to the lifts had its usual draining issues.  We spent the whole day going down Intermediate hills (lots of slush and ice that day).  With about two runs left in us we ran into some skiers with the medical patches on their backs and asked them if there was a lift to get us back up to the parking level.  They directed us to a ski run called, “Cannonball.” They said it wasn't too bad, maybe two small tough areas.  Naturally I refuse to ask the important follow up demasculizing question:  “Excuse my whimpy-ness, but what exactly do you mean when you say, “Tough Areas”?”        You’d think by now…

So for our last run (tired) we headed down what we thought was Cannonball.  As we started down the path, it had double black diamonds marked.  I thought there must be a split in the trail ahead and Cannonball was off this.  Cannonball never appeared.

Instead, at our first stop we came to a very steep incline and my kids, 12 and 10 at the time, looked at me like I had three heads.  Everyone thought maybe we should just walk back up and take a shuttle bus to the parking lot.  I would hear none of it.  (First, walking up a hill...very embarrassing, Second, even more embarrassing, I'd need paramedics with pure oxygen by the time I'd get back to the top.  Better that I break my leg and be removed from the mountain with honor.)  I convinced everyone that we'd conquered hills worse than this before, and we'd get through it...which we did.  Who knows better than me!?!

Exhausted, we ski further and now run into what can only be described as a sheer cliff with moguls rippled through the incline.  (Think the movie “The Perfect Storm" where George Clooney is battling the seas but at the end you see the sun coming over the horizon and you think, “Hey, that was a close one, but we made it.”  Then a monster wave comes and smashes them to bits…The End.) My daughter got teary-eyed and asked not to be pushed anymore.  My son immediately jumped out of his skis and announces that he’s walking back up the hill… and started doing just that.  I looked at my wife and could see I had a mutiny on my hands.  They all had that look on their faces like something out of a Laurel & Hardy movie where Stan has screwed up and Ollie has a disgruntled look on his face and says, “Well here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

At this point I’m thinking, where’s that helpful ski patrol…I know where I want to stick my poles. 

I’ve got a mess on my hands now.  It’s time to divide and conquer.  I suggest to my wife that she go down first and do some reconnaissance, and I’ll keep an eye on the kids.  I’m now seriously planted in Negotiating Skills 301 class.  I give one last attempt at convincing them that as much as they've never done moguls before, and granted, there’s also a mind-bending incline, it’s just a matter of taking it slowly, possibly falling a little…but it won’t really be so bad. My son tells me he could be killed.  I tell him that’s not helping to build his sister’s confidence.

Ultimately I convinced them that there was no physical way that we were going to be able to climb out of this mountain.   It would have been like trying to scale an ice covered Everest in boots that have absolutely no traction.  I also know that after the first 20 feet I’d be carrying 3 sets of skis.  (And then there's that ever present issue of "You're completely out of shape" which makes waking up the mountain a non-starter.)  And again, let’s not forget, it is all about me. 

So we decided to try to walk down the side of the slope.  My daughter went first and began sliding and fell.  She didn't have the weight to break through the thick ice-covered snow.  I wound up carrying three sets of skis on my shoulders and walking through the snow & ice like the Tim Man breaking a foot path for my kids to follow.  What was the icing on the cake was listening to the snow boarders and skiers swishing by me and giving me the advice of a lifetime, “Hey dude, if you put the skis ON, you’ll get down the mountain a lot faster.”  The last couple I scream back at that it stopped being funny the 7^th time.

We finally all meet at the bottom of the chair lift that will take us to the parking level.  I do my best to act like nothing’s happened, but there’s silence and all eyes are on me.  It's like I've just dropped the winning touchdown pass at the Super Bowl.  I offer up John Candy’s classic phrase from "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", the one right after he’s driven their car onto the highway going the wrong way and they narrowly miss being incinerated:                  "But we can laugh about it now." Nobody’s buying, it was a painful ride home.

How I Cracked My Ribs...Again

I wish I could say I did it while skiing down a challenging mogul

run....but that's not even close to what happened.

We’re going to the Pennsylvania mountains for a week of skiing…. on the Saturday morning we're getting ready to leave, my wife suggested that we bring the two cats with us...along with the large hairy Golden Retriever.  In a moment of insanity I said, "Yeah, why not."  

So I go out into the garage and dig out the one cat carrier we have.  Now I need to get another one (being that I’m now the proud owner of two cats) at the ridiculously overpriced store in town.  

I can feel my temperature beginning to boil because as usual, I’m in a major hurry and this set of activities is going to delay lift-off…and as is the usual case, it’s for absolutely no reason at all.  I’m just in a hurry and making a conscious decision to torture myself.

“Isn’t it Fascinating! “

I opt for another front loader similar to the one we already have. (Surprise, it’s the least expensive model they have.) I chose wrong. We were able to get Jack (who can be ornery) into the old carrier by putting a greenie in and closing the door behind him.  Jill who is generally sweet as pie became a she-demon.  (Three transfusions later, the doctors tell me that with time and some plastic surgery the scars won't be that noticeable.)

Now I’m in an absolutely perfect mood.  I have to go back to the boutique pet store, return my initial purchase and buy a top loader carrier.  Naturally the new unit I need costs over $80 dollars.  I did mention that one of the selling points my family used in acquiring these cats was that they were free!

Once we got up to the PA Mountains, I decided it would be a good idea to fold down the back seat of the minivan to make it easier to get at the ski equipment for the week.  Fortunately or Unfortunately I remembered that I packed two small snow shovels under the back seat...so they'd need to come out before collapsing the seat.

Instead of taking the extra 20 seconds to walk around the side of the

mini-van, and open a side door to remove them, I decided that I'd just reach over the back seat from the back of van and pull them out that way.  One of my many miscalculations of the week was that I forgot that I'm less than 6 feet tall and have relatively normal size arms.

I couldn't reach the shovels.  So again, I refuse to walk around the van; but now I'm imagining I have the flexible body of a twelve year old.  I position the lower portion of my rib cage on the top of the back seat, my body is now parallel to the ground and I reach over to pull the shovels out.  I get one shovel out (falsely reinforcing my notion that this was a good idea), but the other shovel is stuck.  At this point I'm totally committed to this plan, there is absolutely no way that I'm backing out.  (Let’s forget about the fact that at this point I'm totally frustrated and p*ssed out of my mind)  Then in a fit of rage I yank and yank on the handle of the shovel and felt what can best be described as one of my ribs buckling or crumbling.  Now I’m thinking to myself, “Oh Cr*p, I didn’t really just do that?  The Mrs. is going to be really pleased…again.”  But I got the shovel!

Hurt ribs can be a funny thing.  From past experience, they generally don't  hurt that bad right off the bat.  It doesn’t hit home until you try doing something difficult, like tying your shoes. 

I didn't start feeling any discomfort until that night.  I had some problems breathing after having a large meal.  Pain didn't show up until the next day… when it started snowing. I found that if I shovel in one direction no pain.  If I switch hands, it felt like Mohammed Ali connected with a left hook to my rib cage.  It snowed for 6 days straight.  When all was said and done we had over 3 feet of snow.  

Adding to my luck, I caught a family member's cold mid week.  So sneezing and nose blowing became unbelievably painful events. What's really fun is when you get into a sneezing fit and you rifle off 3 or 4 sneezes in a row.  The good news was that when I came to, I had no recollection of what happened.