Life Changing Situations

Life as I know it is about to change. According to my countdown monitor I have 3 days, 22 hours, 8 minutes and still counting before I leave for Germany. Many decisions left, what to take, what do I need to buy, how big of suitcase, what can I purchase over there, what type of weather to expect, etc., etc…

Thinking about life changing situations reminds me of a couple of childhood incidents that have happened when I was younger. But, to save you the boredom and maybe use the others for another blog or two, I’ll just tell you about one.

If you don’t know about Utah, it is located in the western United States. Right along the east side of the state is a mountain range called the Rockies or the Rocky Mountains. Now Utah has some of the most scenic views that I have seen. In the north in the spring and summer are lush green valleys. To the south lie the desert mountains, where the jagged peaks of the Uinta’s break away to the beautiful reds, whites, and greens of Bryce and Zion canyons and the natural arches of Arches National Park. To the west of Salt Lake City is the Great Salt Lake and desert. West of the lake is the Bonneville Salt Flats known to most for the races that are held there seasonally. The “Rockies”, a majestic series of mountain ranges that run north and south, and stretch from the northern top of British Columbia to New Mexico roughly 3,000 miles. The part of the Rockies around Salt Lake City is known as the Wasatch Range and is known worldwide for the snow during the winter months, thus the nickname of “Utah, The Greatest Snow on Earth”. Now I left the Rockies for last because that is where this little mishap happened.

 If you remember in one of my earlier blogs I was challenged, this is another challenge or dare that happened during my brief high school years. When I say brief I mean to say that when you have lived as long as I have (and I’m not saying that I’m old, but…) three years are very brief but a lot can and did happen in the short span of those years.

My Dad has worked in construction all my life until he retired. Because of this we were able to acquire a few extra things around our home that were done in trade. You know like in the olden days of the 1800's give or take a few centuries, where if a mill worker needed a wagon wheel fixed, but couldn’t afford to pay in money, he would trade a bag of flour for it or a doctor would trade for chickens and so on.

Sometimes I wish that sort of trading would still go on in the first world countries maybe we wouldn’t be so much debt. Besides, it is getting to the point that money isn’t worth what it was years ago. The trading is probably going on in third world countries where they have no money.

Anyway, to get on with the life changing story. One winter my Dad got us all season passes and skis, on trade, to a ski resort that is about 45 minutes from Salt Lake City. I have never taken a ski lesson in my life. My oldest brother, who was an expert (he's been skiing for nearly one and half years), gave me a few tips, like how to snow plow to slow down, put your weight on the ski in the direction you want to turn. When that gets boring just point your skis downhill and shout beginner! If you have to stop, just fall down. As he skied off he shouted, “Oh, and try not to hit anyone!” That was the extent of my lessons. They lasted about as long as it took you to read them. The first ski season passed and I didn’t break a leg so I figured I learned how to ski. The second year was about the same as the first, but with more confident. Now, by the time my third year of skiing I thought (emphasize “thought”), I was fairly  a good, not great, but good skier, not racing material, but not bad, my form, technique and probably a lot of other stuff needed work, but my confidence was up there with the best of them. My brothers also thought (I thought some of them were) they were good skiers on the slope.

So…one day my little brother and I took the lift up and on the way started talking. You know, the type of talking that leads to bragging, challenging, and then the dare. We dared each of us to go to the top of the mountain, passing the bunny trail, passing the intermediate trail, and go to the top, where the powder is waist deep, where signs are posted "Experienced Skiers Only". Hey! we had three years behind us, we were experienced, right! Three lifts later when we got off and looked down it was almost as if we were looking down the bunny trail, didn’t look that bad.

My little brother said, “Follow the leader!”, then took off. I was seconds behind him. Did I say that it didn’t look that bad? Looks can be deceiving because everything was white you couldn’t tell how steep the slope really was. And due to the waist deep snow you couldn’t see the tops of the trees (that kept flipping up when you knocked enough snow off them, kind of like a nature made booby trap). But, the speed was unreal, not like on the bunny or intermediate trails. Oh, the rush we just loved it! Following the leader in deep powder, taking jump after jump mere seconds behind. He would jump then I would jump! I got a head and jump then he would jump, back and forth switching between leaders! This went on for quite a while.

Then it happened (does anyone know why there is a time delay between racers, I found out rather quickly) my brother missed a jump and wiped out on the other side of the jump, the landing side. I was right behind him, he took off, I took off, I was right in mid-air when I saw him crash, and lay sprawled out on the other side where I had to land. The skis that we had were metal and had razor sharp edges, and mine were headed straight for his face.

You know I mentioned in the beginning of this blog that I was starting a life changing situation? This was also one of those life changing situations. I had one of a few choices to make with only fractions of a second to make it: 1) I could try to stop, giving my brother time to move, not going to happen, remember I’m in mid-air; 2) get me a pair of new “head” skis, I didn’t like this one, new skis yes, but not my brother’s head; 3) turn in mid-flight, now remember, no lessons, third year skier, etc.

My brother and I don’t know how, but by twisting by body somehow I was able to accomplish the third choice. I landed so close to his head that I cut off the ball that was attached to his tuque (knitted cap). We were both relieved, him that he didn’t have to die and me that I didn’t do him any harm or serious injury.

Did we learn from this experience? You’re just going to have keep reading my blogs to find out.

Until the next time…As my daughter found out if you’re tired of running, walk.