Brian (Denver): “Shred”
Brian
Littleton, Colorado, USA
Far off, in a world of it’s own, lies a mountain town called Steamboat. Here, the small but ever growing town is filled with many regulars that eat, breathe, and sleep skiing and some tourists that have come to experience the Rocky Mountain wonders. Every morning the once sleeping town awakens to huge cliffs with snow cats patroling around to make sure that every last spec of snow is groomed and slippery. Owners of the many town shops turn their closed signs to “open” and all at once the town is stampeded with citizens from all over, California, Oregon, Florida, Centennial and Lakewood. Overnight the town was a ghost town, and in the morning it is a city. The pizzaria starts twirling dough and making fresh pepporonis, the burger joint prepares warm freshly grilled burgers with toasty fries that have just come out of the frier. Here the sun shines on many people’s rosy cheeks as they cut an “S” shape pattern while flying down a steep hill. This mountain consists of runs to meet everybody’s needs, for people who take many spills and are just beginning a blue or green will suit them, however for an expert only a black or a double black will be able to tame them. At Steamboat, the best snow awaits for riders to blast through the knee deep fluff and spray their friends.
On this day, a cold and frostbitten January morning the crisp and icy flakes come down in numbers. Blizzary conditions are the reason that the sun is no where to be found. The blanket of dark gray clouds engulf the mountain like mother wrapping her baby with blankets. However on this occasion, Brad has never been more ready to ski in his life. As he peers out the window of his three bedroom cabin located in Mira Village a sea of white appears infront of him. Chilled air fills his lungs as he rolls out of his bed and creeps into the kitchen to scarf down some breakfast. The smell of brown cinnamon sugar oatmeal that comes out of the brown packets, meets him as he lays foot into the kitchen. He scarf’s down the first bowl and has to go back for another.
“Good morning my skier boy,” his mom says as she fixes her curlers.
“Hey mom thanks for the oatmeal,” Brad replies.
“Your welcome, but remember, you have to make your bed, pick up the dirty clothes in your room, and do the dishes before you can ski today,” responds Brad’s mom.
“But mom there is only a few days left before the season is over.”
“No excuses, you will litsen to your mother young man.”
The steamy concoction fills his tummy with warm tastiness. After breakfast, Brad suits up and is ready to test his luck with the conditions.
It doesn’t take long for Brad to get ready. His thin, moppy hair flies all over the place and is infested with some sort of creatures because he hasn’t showered in days. He takes no time in combing it at all, then puts on his white long underwear with his flaming red ski pants over the underwear, and pulls his black Under Armor heat gear over his skinny frame. His puffy black coat covers everything up and Brad is ready to go!
He steps out of his mountainside cabin and the cool crisp air immediatley fills his lungs making his mouth feel dry. His ski boots clunk down on the snow as he puts one foot infront of the other wandering down to the lift where he straps his skis in and joins the lift line. To his surprise the place is deserted and he would be lucky to find any one on this day. Brad listens to the slight hum and purr of the chair lift as he heads toward the top, and watches someone catch an edge and lose a ski. Finally, he is off the lift and making a run down a quick cruiser. He fly’s as he passes people like a cheetah hunting down an elk. Brad’s skis are pointed straight and there’s nothing that will stand in his way. From a distance you are only able to see the snow that fly’s behind him and he is no where to be seen, but from close you can see the technique and how graceful he skis. For Brad, the run itself takes much less time than riding up the chair lift.
Brad decides to ride up the “Poma” lift, which takes him to the very top of the mountain. From there, Brad is able to explore the backside of the mountain. He stands like a king on his thrown as he waits for the opportune moment to drop down into the backcountry. “Pika,” his usually favorite run is closed today because of the hazoudous conditions. As he edges up to it he reads the sign, “Don’t attempt, passes will be taken if you do so.” However, Brad decides to do it anyway knowing that he won’t be caught. Today, the powder is waist deep and Brad is very carefully planning his plan of attack. He eyes the 30-foot cliffs, and then the glades that are off in the distance, these are just two obstacles you will have to maneuver about to make it down safely. He starts forward and leans back on his skis so he can be on top of the powder and not sink down low beaneath it. He gains speed as he eyes the cliff ahead, Brad leaps off and soars into the air as if he was in eagle, he can’t be seen in the foggy condition, Brad comes down perfectly in the powder and continues on with his mystical adventure. He hears a siren off in the distance and wonders if someone is on to him. He realizes it was nothing to be worried about. However, he suddenly hits an unexpected bump and tumbles down the second cliff losing both of his skis. His red K2 Public Enemy’s are lost benaeth the fluff. Brad hears his right arm split in two places and knows it’s broken right away. The throbbing pain enters through his whole body and he grimaces. Tears pour down his face as he just lays there knowing that nobody will be going down a run on this day. “Awwwwwww!” Brad lets out a shriek of pain. Struggling for breath because of the shock, Brad manages to crawl back up to try find his two skis that are buried within the white. He frantically digs through the snow like a dog digging for his prize posession, the bone. Losing hope Brad finally caught a glimpse of his skis and snatched them with his paws. After a long up hill battle he was ready to ski down, supporting his right arm with his left. He stomped with his right foot and then his left, gave a little shake, and knew he was in his bindings. It took all of his might to stand up and coast down. Brad finally breathes a sigh of relief when he sees all of the condos and restaurants the town has to offer. As for the arm, it’s not good and Brad knows he won’t be skiing for a while, however he is still looking forward to the next time he will be able to strap on his skis and go flying. The life of a skier!
