Skiing: Demon-sport of the insane and masochistic

(Okay, that title may have been slight hyperbole.)

Driving through the rolling hills above the city of Dubuque, Iowa, a strange sight rises out of the sodden cornfields of a mid-March morning.  The drab browns of dormant lawns and fields suddenly give way to a brilliant expanse to white.  Like a shipwrecked sailor clutching a plank for support, here in this tiny outpost, winter clings tight to a landscape where almost all other snow has finally melted away.  Even as the mercury rises near 50 degrees, one last winter wonderland can boast dozens of inches of snow depth.  This spot, Sundown Mountain, was our first stop on a long weekend escape.

I had never skied before, nor had I had much inclination to.  Scary stories of avalanches, hard crashes and ice spiders (kidding!) seemed enough to dissuade me.  Then, out of the blue, they decided to have a Winter Olympics, I decided to record every single event, and perhaps then the seed took root in my mind.  Totally separately, we decided on a long weekend trip to Dubuque, with several events and attractions in mind, but still a good many openings in the schedule.  Serendipitously, I stumbled upon the website for Sundown, and thought, “Why not?  Let’s give it a try.”

As a true amateur who had never been on skis, on a ski mountain, or even in a conversation about skiing, there was only one place to learn.  On Youtube.  Oh, sure, there were lessons available at Sundown, but they cost almost as much as the lift ticket/ski rental combo.  And with the wealth of “experts” putting videos online, it really was a much more frugal option.  Within minutes I was an expert on the difference between pizza and French fries, and considered myself ready to go.  We arrived at the mountain, and paid a moderately obscene amount for our day’s entertainment.

My ski boots were dead ringers for the magnetic gravity boots from Star Trek VI, and were probably just as much fun to walk in.  We stomped our way into the skis, and set about flailing around in the kiddie/beginner area.  After some experimenting, we felt ready to attempt the smallest hill, Sunshine.  It was tricky at first, but I remembered my extensive training, and soon felt confident in the “French fry position,” even doing some spiffy turns back and forth across the slope.  Granted, this slope was tiny, and didn’t even follow the main mountain, but I was feeling pretty good.

That meant it was time for Sunbowl, deceptively labeled “Easiest” on the hill map.  Stacia set off first, and then me, followed closely by trouble.  You see, in an attempt to slow the riders, Sunbowl was designed with a fairly sharp switchback shortly after the start.  As we approached, I saw Stacia attempt to turn, not succeed, and crash at the banked outside of the turn.  Not wanting to leave her alone (and also not capable of making the turn anyway), I followed suit.  Somehow I stayed on my feet up the banking, started to slide back and flopped down onto my face with my skis somehow angled out 90 degrees from my body.

With some work, I was able to extricate myself and get back onto my skis.  Stacia and I both thought little of this crash, since we knew the switchback was there, and the rest of the hill was more direct.  Unfortunately for us, it went directly downhill.  Once again Stacia set off first, I waited a moment and also got going.  And going, and going…  Legs firmly set in as big of a wedge (“pizza slice”) as I could, I found myself inexplicably gaining speed.  The wind whipped my eyes to tear up as I accelerated faster and faster, desperately trying to somehow slow myself down.

Then I crested a little hill and saw Stacia flat on her back on the middle of the ski run, looking for all the world like she was making a snow angel.  (Allegedly she crashed, but who knows? ;)  As I hurtled past at uncontrollable speed, I heard her yell “I’m okay!  Go ahead!”  Unable to appreciate the irony that she thought I could have stopped to check on her, I continued on to what felt like impending doom.  I was still going at what felt like an insane speed, but I could see I was approaching the bottom of the hill.  I was almost there.

Unfortunately, a diabolical set of circumstances arose to ruin my ski run from hell.  A man and his small child happened to be on the slope ahead of me, just as the run turned a gently S-curve.  Unable to slow down or really turn very well, I found myself heading straight for a light pole.  I could see it was padded, but I really didn’t want to hit it, so I decided it would be better to just crash.  Everything happened fast enough that I don’t know what I did to make myself crash, or what the crash was like, but somehow after the twists and spins I ended up on the snow, short of the light pole and separated from my skis by about three feet.

I found my way back into my skis, skied the few remaining yards down the hill and met up with Stacia, who had apparently gone by while I was getting my bearings.  We looked at each other and each said something like, “That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done!”  In a daze, we rode the lift to the top of the hill, and returned to the baby hill for the rest of our time there.  Fortunately neither one of us hurt ourselves, but it was probably just luck, since you can really twist yourself up pretty well when you have three foot long planks attached to your legs.  Since luck had shined on us on our run down the Sunbowl, we decided not to tempt fate again that day.

As we left Sundown Mountain, I thought about the Winter Olympic athletes that had, in-part, inspired this trip.  I recall from the telecasts that the alpine skiers travel at something like 60 mph.  I have no idea how fast I was going, but have to imagine it wasn’t more than 20 or 30, and it was the scariest experience of my life.  With regard to skiing, I’m proud to say I’ve done it, and on a small enough hill it was actually pretty fun.  But I think the best way to participate in this sport is the way I did during the Olympics: from the couch.