Skiing With Sven

(Older piece, ran in February of 2009 in the Mountain Ear, but I found it and realized I was thinking these same thoughts the other day when I was watching a rail jam over at Shawnee the other day.)

I hate to admit this, but I didn't ski on Sunday. It was a beautiful day, but I had a few projects that took precedent and by the time I was done I decided to kick back on the couch and watch some television. A buddy had come over and we were chatting about skiing and low and behold Winter X-Games was on. We watched skier-x, skier slopestyle, snowboard super pipe and some crazy snowmobile freestyle contest.

The things these athletes were doing were unreal. It was impressive to see how far these sports have progressed, it was cool to see athletes like Shawn White who have grown up before our eyes. It was all good, well not all good. There was a darkness growing as we watched the events. Neither of us said anything at first, but it was there, then it came out- Dan said it first- "where were these events when we were kids?"

The door had been opened. Two late thirty somethings sitting on a couch watching television feeling like the gods of fate had cruelly either put them on the earth too early or had let the evils of a litigious society shape too much of their skiing youth in the 80's and early 90's. Ok you might be wondering where this is all going, but if you skied a great deal in the era of neon then you will remember the great ski movies that showed crazy jumps followed by the reality of ski patrol taking your ticket away because you caught a little bit of air- the era of the "NO JUMPING" sign.

I hated those signs. As an adolescent skier jumping was as much a part of skiing as being wet was a part of swimming. Being on skis allowed you to escape gravity for short periods of time. Sometimes you went way up in the air, other times you travelled great distances, sometimes you did both. But no matter what jumping was one of the coolest feelings around, yet doing so was equated with crime- and we're not talking white collar crime where you just get a little slap on the wrist, we're talking gritty crime where the patrol served as judge, jury, and executioner and would take you golden ticket away and leave you grounded at the base of the mountain without another ride up.

To alleviate this we used to bring several jackets and hats (this was well before helmets) and we'd go session a jump and when the patrol would come to nab us we would boogie down to the base at warp speed, blast out of our bindings, run into the lodge and change our jacket and then come back out and do it again. It was a great game and most of the time you could keep your ticket, but sometimes you'd get caught and either lose a corner of the ticket (again before scanning so they would actually cut part of your ticket off), or if you had already lost a corner they would take the ticket away.

I recently took a run with a long time patroller over at Shawnee Peak who had taken my pass when I was a young one and told me I could get it back if I brought him a pizza. No big deal, except he was in the patrol hut at the top of the mountain and I didn't have a ticket to ride the lift. I walked that pizza up to him and got my ticket back. I did get even though, we had the same size foot- so while he was scarfing down the pizza I took his skis and skied back down.

I bring all of this up as I have realized I have become one of those who now say, "when I was young…..," and Winter X-Games brings that out in me. So while I watch these amazing athletes twist, grab and slide through the terrain park, or as they bump shoulders as they race down a banked course full of jumps, I think back to those who went before them and paved the way by sacrificing their tickets so that jumping and skiing fast could live on, and someday make it to the big time. Ok that's corny, but funny.