WOO-HOO! Or Something Like That

It's the beginning of Sunday Ski-Date season for Simon and me. The kids will be in ski-school for the next 6 Sundays, pretty much all day; Simon and I can ski alone together. Not alone, together; I mean together. Alone. For people as privacy-deprived as we are, that makes it a date.

We were off to a slow start today at 8:00 AM, joining the long line of traffic that stretched down from the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon. It had been snowing all night, and the Canyon had been closed for avalanche control. Si got text after text from Snowbird. Opening was delayed until 9:00. 9:15. Further delay was caused by a slide that came down on the road. I read. Si had to pee and had just climbed out of the truck to go find a place to siphon the python, when the Canyon opened and the line of traffic started moving. He had to hold it quite a while longer. I keep telling him that some old empty drink bottles in the cab are a good idea on day like this. We putzed along until we were part way up the canyon, and the traffic stopped again. This time, an avalanche had come down in-bounds at Alta and knocked 4 ski patrollers down with it. Everyone was OK, but Alta closed and so did the Canyon road. Only the people who were already partway up the canyon, on the wrong side of the closure gate, got to continue to Snowbird.

We didn't arrive until about 10:30, pulling in next to truck after truck of guys that had needed to pee all the way up the Canyon and couldn't stand it. They were all lined up at the snowbanks in front of their cars, trying to look discreet about taking a piss. Guys! Old drink bottles! Try it!The skiing was SO worth the hassle. The few of us who made it up had the resort to ourselves for an hour or two. Not much was deemed safe enough to open, but the terrain that was open was fabulous. The best moment was riding along on Gadzoom and looking down just as a patroller opened Bassackwards. He took down the rope that restricted access to a pristine run with about 18" of fresh powder,and we all made a dive for it. Skiing Lower Bassackwards in thigh-deep powder was worth howling about. The shredder dudes were screaming YEEEE-HAH! WOO-HOO! I'm a prissy English-major, so I shouted, "MY GOODNESS THIS IS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!! Then came the first of several wipe-outs that went, "WHOOMPH!" and buried my skis so deep I had to dig down to free my feet. Epic!

My boobs held up really well, (thanks, boobs) even when I was poling. I pulled the incision a little once when my pole stuck and jerked my arm back. No big deal.

It was tiring, though. Si went on a last run without me; I went to his office, lay down on his floor with my head on the mitten-bag and took a nap.