"Close to 4 o’clock we worked our way to the top of Rendezvous, as high up the mountain as was still open. Maybe out of superstition nobody mentioned last run, but we all knew this was it. I looked off in every direction for one last view from the top, but a grey fog obscured everything. Muppet and I gave Aurelia and Bill a push and then skated off to straightline the first pitch, gathering all the speed we could. With goggles too fogged to see, I pulled mine up and squinted as I rode, sleet stinging as it pelted my face. We four made sweeping turns, weaving between each other, yelling and laughing in a party mob that reminded me of how I’d skied with friends as an eighth grader—it felt more like recess, a frenzied game of playground tag, than it did a serious pursuit.
I wondered, if we hurried, if we could grab one more ride up the Flyer but knew that was nothing more than wishful thinking. The empty lift overhead meant they’d already loaded last chair. Toward the bottom, we slowed, not wanting it to be over. No longer carving, I tightened my turns, letting my tails slide just a split second too long with each one to savor that very last instant in the apex before changing direction, no more hooting and hollering but just trying to embrace that fleeting feeling of perfection.
I reached the base first, passing grey puddles of snowmelt and the roped off maze to the Flyer where the lifties struggled to roll up orange snow fencing for the season. Hockey stopping, I let myself topple over in the slush and laid there, muscles relaxed. The others ended their own runs, falling over as well into the snow beside me. I took off my dank, sopping gloves and with a clammy hand wiped the moisture from my face, relishing the wind and wet burn on my cheeks. We sat there, soggy and silent for a sweet long time before unclicking our gear and getting up."
An excerpt from the novel, Ski Bum. Get it from your mountain town library or here:
https://colinclancy.net 