Skiing in May

Well sadly Kevin and I didn't take any pictures of our weekend Ski trip in Mammoth. I remain loyal to my theory that "the best times are often undocumented" but maybe that's just an excuse.

I'd just like to start off by saying, "Can you belive I went skiing in May?"

When I stuck my head into Jeff's office on Friday afternoon (He's the Exec. Prod at my company) he was having a meeting with Laura (my boss). She said, "Go, go home, go skiing," and to that Jeff questioned, "water skiing??"

No I replied, though the thought saddened me just a bit as we all know how addicted I am to water skiing. Snow skiing in May would have to do.

I'd loaded my car on my lunch break, so as soon as I finished at the office I was ready to go meet Kevin at his place. We'd spent the afternoon texting each other about our excitement for the weekend ahead. At one point I decided I'd find a funny little poem about skiing and send it to him, so I found this poem:



Skiing by Philip Mitchell


Skiing?

No I don't think so
I don't want to break a limb
I fancy my chances of staying intact are hopelessly, painfully slim.

My balance is all wrong you see
I can't even walk a straight line
No, a pair of skis are incompatible with these clumsy legs of mine.

I'll admit the scenery looks amazing, in the brochures that I've seen,
But there's a world of danger in the:
a) trees
b) cliffs
c) slopes
d) ravines

Call me a wimp,
I don't care
I'll admit I am a cynic.
But I don't want to spend my hard earned cash
On a holiday that ends in the clinic.

Copyright; Phillip Mitchell


I thought it was a funny little poem, but I decided to add my own poetic response before sending the email to Kevin, so I wrote this: (pardon the language)


Skiing?

Pass it up
You must be insane
Because many can't wait to get on the slopes, and often they welcome the pain.

Though your balance is off
and you do seem quite lazy
If you pass this chance up, I dare say you are most definitely crazy!

Oh Dear, dear Unfortunate Phillip, the things that you'd be missing
Freak accidents can occur at anytime
like when you're:
a) driving
b) cooking
c) working
d) even pissing

So get off your ass
Grab your ski boots
and stop being such a wussy
Cause one day in a clinic is clearly not as bad
As spending the rest of your life as a fuckin pussy!!

Copyright Heather Broeker


Kevin got a kick out of this and sent my "edited" version to his friend Dave who owns a ski shop. Kevin consults for the ski shop and apparently Kevin and Dave intend to post my poetic genius.


So Kevin and I left LA around 7pm, an inconvinient time for avoiding traffic, but none the less we managed to keep up a good driving pace. Mammoth is about 5-6 hours outside of LA, and Kevin intended to stop around Bishop to camp. Using one of his maps, he found a dusty dirt road that his truck handled just find. We headed towards some hot springs and found a deserted area set beautifully between the mountains and blanketed by a star-filled ski. We camped in the back of his truck- an experience that was surprisingly warm, comfortable, and serene. We awoke refreshed and ready to hit the slopes. After grabbing a bite to eat and getting our gear on, we rode the guandela up Mammoth mountian. The skiing was a bit slushy, but the lack of vast crowds and aloof snow bunnies made up for the slightly difficult snow. We got a few runs in - Kevin was happy to push me a bit as he encouraged some "through the tree" skiing and one slope in particular that I would have rathered not try. Sandwiched between large rocks on one side and patches of dirt from the melted snow on the other, I hesitantly skiied down a narrow incline. It wasn't as bad as it looked - it never is, but it surly wasn't something I would have done unguided.

We took a beer break around noon. Kevin managed to perform some extreme alcohol abuse as he spilled not one, but two of his beers. Four beers and 28 bucks later, we each had the equivilant of maybe one beer in our systems. We hit one more slope and then headed to the car to retrieve Marley (Kevin's dog) who eagerly awaited our arrival.

Then we attempted to hit up some Hot Springs. The first was a bit too toristy for our liking. As we peered over the edge of the cliff in the Hot Springs' parking lot, we noticed about 15 people hundled together in the middle of a river. It seemed that was the only area warm enough to welcome swimmers, and we prefered not to get so intimate with strangers. We headed further up the rocky dirt paths and found another hot spring - this time there were only a few people, so we settled for the location. As Marley played with the other dogs in the mud, we sat in a natural pool of hot water and listened to two Mexican men talking about their work and the 15 free packs of cigarettes their employer provided each day. God bless America.

Later we went to Convict lake to bathe the now dirty Marley. With the dog clean, and us in dry clothes, we headed to Convict Lakes 4-Star restaurant. We had Rack of Lamb and Sea Scallops followed by Banana's Foster for dessert. Kevin told stories of his childhood camping trips during which the families obviously took much pride in meal preparation. While it seems that normal family camping trips are filled with hot dogs, s'mores and beans from a can, Kevin's family was cooking up filet mignon, homemade pizzas, roasts, and yes, Banana's Foster. I'm sure the evening's dessert left him with fond memories and most definitely a full stomach.

We got back on the road to head south where we'd camp again for the night. We found another old dirt road that supposedly housed another hot spring - according to Kevin's book. It, however, took as a while to find this one. The eary road was seemingly a Vortex as the path to the camp site was no where to be found. I was thanking my lucky stars that I hadn't watched any horror movies lately as the vacant road creeped me out just a bit. Once we found the spot, we took a look at the large hot spring pool. It's amazing what a bit of darkness can do to a pool of water - neither of us wanted to go near the thing as it looked incredibly uninviting. We set up camp in the back of the truck, I took out my contacts, and just as we were both falling asleep I hear Kevin say, "you've got to be kiding me". "What?" I was thinking, but then I got my answer as I felt the rain coming down on my head. We both jumped up quickly and began to pack everything up as the wind started to pick up.

Something blew out of the truck and I, still lacking my site without contacts, ran off into the darkness to attempt to retreive it. I didn't get far though as I felt the earth below me soften and sink between my toes. I was up to my calfs in mud or muck of some sort and no matter what way I turned to step, it seemed as if I'd never get out of the watery sink hole. I emerged finally and scampered back to the car. By this time the rain had stopped. Ironically, though, the entire car was now packed up and I was drenched in water and mud. To make matters worse, I couldn't see anything. Kevin led me over to the scary hot spring where I attempted to clean myself off. I stripped down to my t-shirt and cleaned my feet and shoes. We through my pants in the back of the truck and attempted to sleep in the car of the truck. It wasn't too uncomfortable, so we decided to remain there for the evening.

In the morning, the camp site was surly a comedic site. The mud spot that had felt like the entire world sinking into a murky grave the night before, was merely a tiny mud puddle in the morning light. Kevin was still sleeping (now on the ground outside) as I laughed at the foot prints I had made in the mud. It appeared that I had litterally stepped EVERYWHERE in the mud except for in the direction that would have led me to dry land. Like some odd diagram of dance steps, I could see the path I had made through the mud puddle in front of me. I went back to sleep for a bit, but was awoken when Kevin opened my door. He too must have seen the mud puddle as he was cracking up. "Did you see where you stepped last night" At least my run in with the mud puddle had made for some early morning laughs.

We got back on the road and headed further south. We took the scenic route home and saw some pretty amazing parts of California. I'd say all in all it was a pretty eventful May ski trip.