Ski or Die
This past weekend I went with a friend to his family's ski-cation home in Spain. And, in case you were worried that there was only a ridiculous amount of snow falling on America's north-east,
"But how was the skiing," you ask. Well, the second day we spent the first two hours trying to get the car (whose chains were mistakenly left in France) out of its parking space. Once we made it to the resort, however, the skiing was wonderful... that is, what I could see of it.
There was so much snow and wind, one could only see white. Excitement overcame me, however, when at one point I believed that I could finally make out the contours of the snow. But, alas, it was merely one of those annoying eye floaters which became only more visible on the pure white canvas that was my vista. So, I was made to continue skiing purely by feel until I happened upon a chairlift. As it would be difficult to take a picture in such a situation (it was 10°F and I was, well, skiing) I have decided to create an artist's representation of what it looked like on the slopes that day, so that you may better understand. Additionally, I have labeled this representation so that you do not make the same mistake as I in believing eye floaters to be a sweet mogul.
Honestly, we had a great time skiing that second day. And, eventually, we made it to a part of the mountain where one could see where one was going.
As for the first day, we skied then too. It was warmer than the second day, making all of the falling snow wet, heavy, and generally unpleasant. I did, however, while skiing alone in the woods (which is always a good idea, particularly at an unknown resort in a foreign country), accidentally fall into a six-feet deep crevasse carved out by a small creek; but that's another story for another time.