This is long but you should read it anyway.
5:45 AM and the vibration of my bed wakes me up. I turn off the alarm on the phone stuck on my bed frame. The waking up isn't the worst part, it's the thought of the twenty minute walk up East Avenue with all my gear that makes me question whether or not slipping back under the covers is a wise choice. Once at the gym, waiting forty-five minutes for the bus isn't exactly fun either, especially since there's always the possibility of not getting on. As a freshman without a car, however, it's the only way. It's a sacrifice I make every Saturday or Sunday morning though, and one I never regret. I close my eyes for just a second and instead of the black of my eyelids, I see white; the white snow falling outside my dorm window, the white snow which was responsible for my decision to come to UVM, and the white snow that will soon be covering my pants, jacket, and perhaps even my beard.
Me and two other dedicated individuals meet behind Mercy Hall at 6:15 and spirits are high. We decide we'll ride Bolton Valley- its short ride and fifteen plus inches (and still falling) in the last forty-eight hours are very appealing. We're happily surprised when there are only about thirty other kids waiting by 7:15. The first bus that pulls in is heading to Jay Peak and around eight kids get on. The Stowe bus arrives shortly after and another eight to ten people get on. It's 7:30 now and the two buses pull away. The snow is still falling steadily now, and me and my two friends are alongside about fifteen other kids waiting for the bus to Bolton Valley. Each snowflake that graces my nose is a reminder of the many flakes that will later be covering my face and limiting my ability to breathe.
8:10 and the bus hasn't showed up. No one has the number for the bus company. We've given up hope. Usually walking downhill is easier than walking uphill, this morning it was not the case. The walk back down East Avenue towards Trinity Campus evokes feelings reminiscent of those I had during the mile run in elementary school. The idea of suddenly stepping out into traffic crosses my mind, but there's no cars heading north on East Avenue at 8:30 on a Sunday morning. The "Fuck!" I yell behind Mercy Hall reverberates with no response seeing as everyone is sleeping or already on their way to the mountain.
As I sit here in my room by myself, my suite mates at Stowe and the building empty, watching the snow pile up outside my window, I realize I'm finally experiencing that phrase I have been long searching for: No Friends on Powder Days.
