Friends, hello again from Colorado. Amazingly, my woefully out of practice legs have brought me through yet another full day of skiing, relatively unscathed. Just like riding a bike. A really cold bike. That's a lie, I'm lying - I'm from Minnesota. Just a bike.
We skied Snowmass today, and at the very top of the mountain, right at the crest where the ski area ends and the wild takes over, were the most shocking views of mountain backcountry I've seen in quite a few years. Actually, I know exactly when the last time I saw such a scene - coincidentally, the last time I went alpine skiing...
(flashback)
It was December of 2006, and the very first day that the lifs at Les Grands Montets were open. I remember it being somewhat cold, but nothing that a good Minnesota boy couldn't handle with some self-assurance and a pair of mittens his mom had so graciously sent "par avion." I had left my friends from Notts in the condo we had rented, and had taken a bus through the Chamonix valley, up to the ski resorts. While they munched baguettes and lazed about the quaint village, I, I had resolved to ski the Alps, just like my dad had done years earlier.
The bus was full of those sort of stereotypical "Europeans-on-a-ski-vacation" type, replete with tight, neon, Descente jackets and jambon beurre sandwiches. I, of course, looked like who I was - a bright eyed college student truly out on his own for the first time. Of course, I told myself it was all fine, but in reality, I was scared shitless.
So I rented my skis, and some English punk ski-bum fitted my boots. The gondola ride, if I recall correctly, was quiet - for me. I couldn't say the same for the Italian trio that shared the cabin with me.
Of course, the skiing was amazing - indescribable views, great powder, and the like. I did as the Europeans sans jambon beurre would do, and paid entirely too much for a brie and turkey baguette. Quietly eating, drinking a cup of coffee, I remembered that at the top of the lift to the top, I had noticed a few skiers cross a "CLOSED - ARRET" sign, and disappear across a ridge. Maybe it was a moment of self-realization, maybe it was divine intervention, most likely it was sheer stupidity; but I resolved to go under that rope too. I wanted to see what they were doing, because let's face it, I so desperately wanted to be like them.
So I did. I drank my coffee, took the lift to the summit, and while perplexed vacationers gave me that "look at the asshole American" look, I crossed under the rope and skied into the unknown.
You know, I'm almost glad I forgot my camera that day, because not only would I be living my life through a lens, but I think I would have missed the transcendental nature of that run. Taking a picture would have missed the point, it's better I can just look back and remember what I want to remember. Suffice to say, I came out on a huge bowl, not a single human being within eyesight, the faint wisps of just a few tracks through the fresh snow, and across the valley, the most stunning panorama of the Alps spread out before me. And although it was steep, and there were rocks and trees jutting out from the snow, I remember thinking to myself, "well, I can do this."
And I could - I did. I skied down that mountain by myself in an incredibly foreign place, and looking back on it after these years, it was probably one of the most existential things I've ever done. Foolish as it sounds today, I think I grew up a lot on that closed mountain in France. I didn't need to be like the people that crossed the rope before me, because I could be myself, and do whatever that needed to be doing just as well.
Which brings me to my point. A very lame movie (of course, one that I would like) once had a line, that life is about defining moments - either you define the moment, or it defines you. That afternoon in France was a defining moment, and I'm sure there have been many since then, and before then. I wondered a bit last week about what 2011 would bring, and already, I think there are some moments waiting to be defined.
As I expressed in my New Year's recap, I think everything we do is a matter of choice; of how we, as people living in relation to another, decide to do certain things. It's hard for me to believe that a moment can truly "define" someone. It's probably more accurate to say that people allow themselves to be defined by moments either via action or inaction. I chose to go down that closed trail, and I could have just as easily chosen not to. Maybe it's a distinction without a difference, but I prefer to think of such things as matters of volition.
But, in any event, here's to skiing, both in Colorado and in France. Here's to defining moments. And here's to all 2011 will bring.
Here also, is to the chicken pad thai at Taipei Tokyo in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Easily the best pad thai I've ever had.
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