A blog entitled “Tales of the Young and Seasonal” would be remiss not to include at least one entry dedicated to the one activity that rivals the young and seasonal’s love for skiing: sex.
Out of all relationships that develop on the hill, there is none quite so volatile as the skier-snowboarder relationship. The long history of rivalry and one-upmanship between the two sports still palpable: within the first ten minutes of meeting someone new in a ski town, you can expect to be asked “do you ski or snowboard?” and to be judged on your answer.
Midweek powder on a day off must be the best kind of powder. Yesterday morning, even though I slept in (I know, I know, for shame), there were fresh tracks in Cedar Bowl waiting for me when the upper ridge opened just before noon. And even after several delicious turns in knee-deep powder and a ride up both the T-bar and the Boom Chair, there were still plenty of fresh turns to be found for my second run. And my third. And my fourth.
They say hindsight is 20-20. In my particular case, foresight may have been 20-20, too. There’s no way one can work two jobs during the Christmas rush in a seasonal town and expect to emerge unscathed, and I was well aware of this both before and after Fernie’s two-week busy period. But what can I say. I'm in my twenties: I know a lot of things are bad ideas, and I do them anyway.