Each winter my writing trickles to a stop. Who knows why?
Last weekend I went skiing on the North Island’s most popular volcano and it was beautiful:
This photo is pathetic! You have to see it for yourself.
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When I arrived at the ski area, I went to the ticket counter to buy my gear and lift pass.
“Hi, can I have skis, boots and poles, and a upper mountain lift pass?”
“Sure, you might be eligible for a youth discount. Are your parents here? How old are you?”
“I’m 27.”
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By the end of the day, I had a fresh set of bruises from:
- falling off a t-bar lift with Anouk
As Egon said about crossing the streams, “Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.” The same applies to crossing your skis. Anouk was not happy!
- jumping into a wall of snow
Not nice, fluffy snow. The water which formed this snow used to flow in the sewers of Gary, Indiana, I’m sure of it.
- dodging a boy (like a good samaritan), who happened to fall next to a ski ramp
When I landed, my skies, gloves, hat, etc. were scattered across the field, as if I were Mr. Potato Head and a screaming child threw me against a wall.
In a few weeks I’m flying to Queenstown for some more skiing (yes, I am a masochist). Feel free to fly down and join me!
