I rode the mountain with my family today. Every breathing soul played their part to perfection. My loving mother shelled out for the lift tickets withno reservations and drove us down and watched. My brilliant brother K and his perfectly matched girlfriend A, along with my pursuing-her-doctorate-while-PREGNANT(!) sister schemed cheap college day passes for us because they weren't riding and snuck them to us on the sly. My brother J, the expectant father and better-than-your-average rider amassed any gear he and his friends had lying around so everyone was outfitted with exactly what they needed, and nobody wanted for anything. Brother P, with the heart-of-gold who gets discouraged SO easily, listened with as much patience as he could muster to Brother J's sage advice after years on mountains from Jersey to Vermont.
Uncle J. brought the sport of snowboarding down from the mountains to our family more than a decade ago. This weekend he also brought his lovely daughter T, who kills it every time, and his fantastic girlfriend M who rides with exactly as much skill as Brother P, so they were matched well while learning to ride.
We broke for beers and overpriced soup at the lodge, while I resolved in the future to bring my own everything everywhere. I smoked my brains out with each lift to the top, rocked my headphone (keep one bud out to hear the dude behind you screaming "WATCHOUTWATCHOUTWATCH-OWWWWWWWWT!!") and knocked the wind out my own sails after a misplaced landing! There would be no giving up, no laying down.
We bombed the mountain with no remorse all day. We caught the last chair.
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