Jessie Goes….

Well, we did a three day trip to the mountains, to take advantage of ‘all that snow’.

Day one:  went to Iceface, err.. I mean Whiteface, the site of the 1932 and 1980 Winter Olympics, and theoretically, some of the best skiing this side of the Mississippi.   We managed to get to the top of the gondola, where it was blizzard winds, and honestly, I could have spread my arms at the top of the steepest slope there and never have started a descent on my snowboard, due to the windsheer. Insanely windy.     If I held my  snowboard over my head at the right angle I might have actually been able to fly…looking back, I should have tried this.  

So, finally started my decent with a little creative hopping/voodoo dancing my way toward something really steep which would counteract the windpower, only to find a nicely disguised version of the Rockefeller Center ice rink, all the way down the mountain (or at least the 10 feet of slope perpetually in front of me).   The one inch of snow on the top tricked me into falling on my butt at least two times before making it to the first lift, which brought us to the VERY top of the mountain, where the steeeeeps are.   Somehow despite laws of physics, murphy, gravity, and wind/mountain dynamics, we were hopeful that the top might be a little less icy, windy and crowded.   Ha.

I fell down about 100 feet from the top of the slope, of which I had estimated to be at least 99 feet of ice.   Then I fell again at 102 feet from the top…and I just sat there.   After a few moments I decided that this was just crap,  and I would walk down this stupid mountain, before I gave it the satisfaction of actually attempting to use it for its intended purpose.  With a huff and a growl in my boyfriend’s general direction regarding sudden hatred of this stupid mountain, I unlatched my first binding, then my second…and still complaining preceeded to stand up and take my first step down, my boyfriend, Mark, watching as well as a few other amused bystanders.    Most of which were probably still using the previously mentioned laws in their immediate action planning.   Well, turns out, a 35 degree slope totally ice, is very slippery, and I made it precisely 1/2 step before falling full body on the slope, legs in the air, and sliding a good ten feet.    Stupid mountain.

Well, suffice it to say me and my ego had to snowboard down, as, realistically, we were 3.6 miles from the bottom, which hadn’t occur to me mid-tantrum, and walking was going to be more painful and time consuming than I had at first imagined.

I felt better though that Dorothy Hamill (aka Mark with a smug, “I’ve got skis on and I am laughing at you, because ice is my specialty” look on his face)  got his skis run over by one of those crazy little kid skiers on the way down, and the smug look was no longer with him by the time we reached the bottom.    He was so pissed that we took off our gear and just left.
Mark tells me we are not going to “Ice-pop” again.  Ever.

Oh, did I tell you that Dorothy Hamill got his first speeding ticket in a decade, on the way to Ice-pop that morning?  Heh heh.   A 6 pointer… we should have known then. 

Day 2-3:  Home Mountain, fresh powder, all is well again.    No crowds, no ice, no ski tantrums, no speeding tickets.   Today I had my best board day ever.  Went bombing down a couple of expert runs, looking like I knew what I was doing.     Which is practically better than actually knowing what you are doing.

Cheers, Jess (aka Tonya Harding)

For those of you who don’t know me, I am an avid ‘Southerner/American girl’ traveller, wishing, hoping, for a RTW trip, but in the meantime I’m doing what I can, when I can.   Here are my stories:  

 Ever wonder what its like in a New York City snow storm? This moment, the snow is stinging me in the face, and sticking to my overcoat as I walk down the deserted 19^th Street at 12:45am. In New York, the wind tunnel effect is in full force, down the avenue and east to west, though it really must be only around freezing, not much below, because it really isn’t but so cold. The street ahead is coated in white, the air is full of snowy fog, falling in whirls around the street lights. The building windows go dark-dark-light, dark-dark-light and I notice a cat holding watch over her stoop, in the odd lit window. Only a few are up in their apartments at this hour, most are either out toasting the night, or asleep by now. Very few cars disturb the quiet of the street as I make my way, they keep themselves to the avenues, mostly cabs, in hopes for fares on the way home in the early hours of the storm. When I get in the building I pass by the apartment door, and up to the roof top.

6 stories above the lamp lights, store lights and headlights it hits you the real wonder of a snowy night in New York. I know its up there, that’s why I go to look, but each time I do, its almost a new discovery. For all the nights where you can’t see but 10 stars total, this is payback. Approaching the roof deck furniture that hasn’t hosted a cup of coffee since September, I survey the city from 80 feet. The Empire State building and all the buildings of uptown are shrouded in mist, but I can tell it’s after midnight because there isn’t a smudge of color emanating from my right. As I recall the Empire State was red, white and blue as I got in a cab earlier tonight. The New York 1 sign is still barely visible on 32^nd street directly north, the rest of the skyline is very dim and foggy in the distance. The wind blows strongly from several directions and I am happy for my hat and gloves, but still I marvel that its not all that cold. Considering.

All of this strikes me pretty fast, half a second or so. But what really strikes me, as it would you, before you even noticed your footsteps messing up the untouched snow of the roofdeck, and before you wonder which buildings you can make out in the storm, before everything, you notice the ambient light. It is as clear and as light out as noon on a mildly cloudy summers day. This is not an exaggeration, and it hits you because you know there aren‘t street lights right above you to see by. Just the heavens. It is astounding, and though I’ve seen it before, many times now actually, it strikes me as magical every time. From 6 stories up it is quiet, at least for Manhattan at any hour, underneath the falling blanket of white. The reflection of every light of the city is shining back from the low fog and cloud cover. I look at the snow coated table and chairs and picture myself reading my latest book, and how easy the words on the page would be to see. This is how light it is. I am not jesting when I say it is like midday light. And I’m not saying that it is ‘kind of’ like midday light (remember in Manhattan, every night, thanks to the light pollution, is like ‘kind of’ midday.)   I’m talking full on bright midday. And even weirder, since the lights are reflecting from everywhere, on every whited-out surface, there are no shadows.

I can’t tell you how eerie that effect is. Bright,  and from all over. I can only tell you, if you find yourself in a city, such as NYC, during a snowstorm, where the streets are beginning to coat themselves in white, and the cabs are leaving tracks, try your hardest to get above the street, but still in the open air,  and spend a quite moment alone with the snow light.

Like I said, it makes up for at least a few of those nights you look up and can’t even see the Big Dipper. There’s thunder happening as I trapse downstairs to write this. Thundery snowstorms. Cool, I think. Even to a city girl.

Next update: Ski-time Summit County, Co, then to Bolivia