The Honeymooners, Day Two

I would have been thrilled to spend all three days of our trip skiing, but this was not a good season for snow in Oregon.  I guess Boston got it all?  Before we left Virginia, I'd checked snow reports and weather forecasts, and I was disappointed to learn that not only was the snow really thin, but it would probably be too warm for good skiing anyway.

On the other hand, I hadn't been skiing since I left Bend, and I was due, dammit.  I didn't need good skiing.  I just needed to ski. 

Part of the sign at Chow, renowned for their breakfasts.

I also needed to eat.  Luckily, Chow opens at 6, and our brains were still mostly on East Coast time, so we were ready to go early.  This time, we didn't split one breakfast. I knew we'd want more fuel on our second day.

I don't remember what they called this, but it was some kind of Benedict with pulled pork, and cheesy grits on the side. You might be able to tell that I couldn't wait to take a picture before taking a bite.  My mouth is watering now just typing about it.

I love my skis, but I don't have the means to travel with them, and I wasn't sure when we left Virginia whether I'd be able to ski at all, given the conditions, so we had to hit the rental shop first.  I felt bad that we lost twenty minutes of skiing that way, but I'm a little bit mental about being one of the first people on the lift, and one of the last people off the mountain.  If I'm going to pay for that lift ticket, I want to get every possible second of use wrung out of it.

The Girl on Pine Marten chair.  Trust me, she's in there.

The Girl is not as obsessive as I am about skiing.  She does weird things like getting "cold" and "tired" and "hungry."  To be fair, while I can ski circles around her, I have to train for weeks to put in the distance she considers a "short run."  We each have our strengths.  Mine, apparently, is heavily reliant on gravity.

Looking at the Sisters from just below the base of Summit Chair.

By 2:00 or 2:30, the snow was getting sticky with afternoon sun.  It was difficult for her to ski slowly, and it was probably dangerous for me to ski fast (if your skis hit a sticky spot, they'll slow down.  You won't.  Newtonian physics for the win!).  It was tiring for both of us, so we split up.  She took a long, gentle slope back to the rental center, and I squeezed in five or six more runs.  Just because I shouldn't have gone fast doesn't mean I stopped.  I was careful, yes, but I was also greedy.

The Girl heads toward Olympian.  I'll catch up.

I had a few friends in town who knew I'd be visiting, but many of them were out of town that week, and we really didn't have enough time to see everyone I missed.  Still, I wanted to be sure to visit Nahid, who had come to see us two years ago.  She promised us a Persian meal, and I knew hers would be far more authentic than my best efforts.  Turns out our visit fell during observance of the Persian new year, and we got to see her beautiful table display.  The items all start with an "s" sound in her native tongue.

Happy Persian New Year!

My job was to get the grill going. I was nearly successful.  We managed, eventually, using a combination of briquettes, newsprint, Ponderosa pine cones, and lighter fluid. She set out skewers of tomatoes, chicken drumsticks marinated in beer and garlic, and began forming skewers of seasoned ground beef.  I was thrilled, and we hadn't even eaten anything yet.

Beef: it's what's for dinner.  Also, chicken, tomatoes, eggplant, rice, salad, flatbread, beer, and dessert.

She was leaving town in a couple days, so she demanded that we leave no leftovers.  We did our level best, but we're only three people, and two of us (the two that aren't me) are really small.  There was a LOT of food.  It was amazing.  Plus, I think each of us held back a little because The Girl and I had stopped at La Magie after skiing to pick up three little desserts (which we trisected, so everyone got to try everything), and nobody wanted to miss out on that.

My first of several plates.

Old mountain, new areas

I like to think that you wouldn't know it by watching me, but I only learned how to ski two years ago.  After living in Bend for two years, I was afraid that they'd make me leave town if I didn't take up skiing, snowboarding, or snowmobiling (possibly all three), and I had nowhere to park a snowmobile.  Bachelor offered a unique deal: a five-lesson package, with gear rental included on the days of all lessons, and a 12-day pass upon completion of the course.  Half price on your season pass the following year, and 25% off the season pass the year after that.  Just like a drug dealer, they got me hooked, then jacked up the price.

I do my level best to make them lose money on me.  For the past two years, I've been in the top 25 on the consumer leaderboard for vertical per day and turns per day, usually without meaning to achieve such goals.  I just go to the mountain early, stay late, and ski as much as I can between those times.

In the past two seasons, I've explored most of the mountain, but there were two areas I had yet to breach: the backside, and the cinder cone.  This season, as part of my Bend Bucket List, I've skied both.

On February 19, Bachelor had a gorgeous bluebird day.  You could see for miles, the air was crisp and clear, and the often-brutal Bachelor winds were nothing more than a pleasant breeze.  It was a record-setting day for Bachelor--the entire mountain was crowded with skiers and snowboarders, and I decided it was a perfect day to explore the backside territory.  I started with a run through the west bowls, accessible from Northwest Chair, just to get an idea of what was in store for me.  On a day that busy, it's impossible to find an area of untracked powder larger than a common bedroom, and rare to find a place on the mountain where you can't see at least one other person.  This held for the west bowls, too, but there were still long moments of peaceful isolation.  I could hear a bird singing somewhere south of me, and the view in that direction showed an expanse of National Forest which appeared untouched between the mountain and the horizon.

Later, I convinced a friend to join me on a run from the Summit chair down the back of the mountain.  I ended up skiing the backside three times (three and a half, if you count the West Bowls) that day.  If I'd had more time, I would have spent the entire day back there.  The runs may have been shorter, until you hit the catchline road to bring you back to Northwest Chair, but for me it was an entirely new place, with new views, new terrain, and large, drifted cliffs of snow.  Despite the tracks laid all around me by those who came earlier in the day, I got to feel like an explorer.  Hopefully I can get back there again before I leave town in two weeks.

Somewhere inside this snow sculpture, there's a tree caked in ice.

Kwolh Butte, seen from Bachelor's backside.  I had wanted to make a hike to that crater as one of my last adventures in town, but it would be an overnight trip in snowshoes, and I don't know enough local crazy people to help me break that much trail.

The next weekend, I came down Leeway from the top of Pine Marten chair and watched a solid line of riders hiking their gear up the cinder cone (a small feature of the mountain prominent enough to be the namesake of a local brew).  The front side of the cone is visible from the West Village parking lot, and is usually heavily textured with the tracks of dozens of skiers and boarders.  I had been in powder between Outback and Northwest chairs most of the morning, and was ready for a more unique ride, so I shot down through the valley, coasted as high up the cone's flank as I could manage, and hiked the rest of the way with my skis on my shoulder.  The trip was much shorter than I had anticipated, and I even managed to convince a coworker to join me later that afternoon.  On both trips, I had to take a shorter route that brought me out of the trees on the lower end of Leeway (he would only agree to join me if I found an easy way through the trees for him, and he didn't want to hike back to a lift from the bottom of the cone's front side), but the slope was steep enough to make turning in the deep powder easy and more fun than I had expected.

A view of the far rim of the cinder cone; a view you can't reach by any ski lift.

Like the backside, I'd like to ski the cinder cone again, but if I don't, at least I got the chance to try it.  Even on a mountain so familiar to me that I no longer carry a map (and often serve as a map to people who have forgotten theirs), it's great to find brand new areas to explore.

wish upon a flake

Eileen couldn't believe her eyes.  She rubbed at them, thinking the glare on the snow might have somehow deceived her, but the apparition remained.  She pointed her skis downslope and glided smoothly across, a rasping hiss in her wake.

"Is it you?"  she asked, tentative and somehow frightened, when she stopped in front of the woman.

She smiled back, stately and timeless.  "Hello, Eileen."

Her gloved hands went to her mouth and failed to stifle a quick, high sob.  "It's been so long!  Where did you go?  You never told me anything!  You just disappeared, and I was worried, and scared, and I didn't know if you were hurt, or if I'd done something wrong, or--"  A quiet smile from the other woman brought her frenzied stream of frets to a soft close.  When she spoke again, her voice was softer, a child hiding under the kitchen table.  "Magdalene... I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

"Here I am."  Warmth radiated from her smile.

"But where did you go?  You were the one who always played with me when everyone else left.  My only really constant companion... my fairy godmother.  And when you left..." Her voice broke.  "What did I do wrong?"

Magdalene leaned forward in her boots.  When she brought the handles of her poles together at her stomach, Eileen could easily imagine her in a sumptuous Victorian dress, her hands in a muff against the London chill.  "You didn't do anything wrong, Eileen."

"Then why did you leave??"  Tears formed behind her goggles, and she bumped the handle of one of her poles against the lens when she reflexively reached to brush them away.

"I had to, Eileen.  Eventually, everyone outgrows the need for their fairy godmother.  When we're not needed, we move on, and find someone else who needs us."

"But I still needed you!!  Everyone else left me!  You were all I had!  After Daddy went, and Janey left for college, it was only you and me!  When you left, I... I was so lonely."

"What about after that?  You grew up.  You made a life for yourself."

"You know about that?"  Eileen sniffled, her goggles now on her helmet and a tissue clenched in one cold-reddened, ungloved hand.

"Tell me anyway.  I want to hear your story as you tell it."

Eileen smiled.  Magdalene had always been so wise.  As much a grandmother as she was a friend.  Blotting at her nose with the tissue, she told the woman in the flowing white dress about the first boy she kissed, the first boy she loved, and the man she eventually married.  She told her about the the beautiful daughter they had together, who had just started college this year, leaving her feeling anxious and alone again, but not as lost as she had felt as a little girl.  She told her about the dark mass they had found in her husband's abdomen, and how they were waiting for the results of whether it was malignant, and she told her how scared she was of losing Jim.  When she finished talking, she was surprised to find that her eyes were dry.

Magdalene smiled back at her.  "That's wonderful, Eileen.  I'm so proud of you."  The other woman beamed with sudden quiet pride.  "Do you understand now why I left?"

This puzzled her.  "No... can you tell me?"

"Fairy godmothers are as real as you need us to be, Eileen.  You clung very tightly to me because you were afraid of being alone, but what you really needed was to learn how to handle people moving in and out of your life.  That boy you kissed was not the man you married, and your Alicia is going to college because you made her strong enough to be on her own, not because she's abandoning you.  If you were still dependent on me, you might not have learned how to cope with those small losses in your life.  Our time together was like training wheels for all your future relationships.  Coping with my absence taught you to cope with the absence of others.  And I can tell that you've done very well."

"Thank you, Magdalene.  I..."  she laughed.  "I guess I'm glad you left me.  Would you like to ski with me for a while?  Just a couple runs?"

Ending one: happy

"I'd like that, Eileen.  I've missed you, too."

Ending two: sad

"I'd like that, Eileen.  I've missed you, too."

Eileen looked at the older woman, marveling at her agelessness.  When she was a little girl, she had always thought of Magdalene as grandmotherly, or an older aunt willing to indulge a little girl with tea parties and story-telling and endless stacks of coloring books.  Now, thinking of the wrinkles around her own eyes and the growing stiffness in her fingers, she realized that they could be sisters.  She had caught up with her childhood friend.  Then she noticed that Magdalene was still staring intently at her.

"What is it?"

"My dear, there is still something else I can teach you."  Eileen was shocked to see the other woman's eyes glisten with new tears.  "There is another kind of letting go."

"I don't understand, Magdalene.  What do you mean?"

"Your Jim will be fine.  They'll have to operate, but he'll survive, and see your daughter graduate.  She's going to be a wonderful doctor."

"Why, that's great!  Why do you look so sad?"

"He will see all that, Eileen.  Just him."  She paused as sudden recognition bloomed in her charge's face.  "There's a blood vessel in your brain, Eileen.  There's no way anyone could know, but it's going to burst.  You won't feel anything.  You won't even feel the fall.  I'm sorry, love.  I just found out myself."

"How long do I have?"

Magdalene managed a shaky smile.  "We can get a few more runs."

A deep calmness flooded through Eileen.  She had been anxious about death in the past, but now she felt a great peace.  Nodding calmly, even reassuringly, she shifted her weight with the skill of an experienced skier and twisted smoothly downhill, with Magdalene right beside her.

Ending three: the most likely

"You don't need me anymore Eileen.  I just wanted to check in with you.  Have a wonderful life."  Without another word, Magdalene slid away and glided smoothly into the trees.  Moments later, after Eileen passed her hiding place, she slid back out just as smoothly, and another skier came down the run, skidding to a stop at her side.

"Who was that, Susan?  You guys were talking for a while."

"I have no earthly idea, darling, but she had a name tag.  Perhaps she works here.  I think that spot up there would be a good place for the wedding photos. There's nice light, but we'll have to hurry onto the lift to get back up in time to finish before it gets too dark."

When I saw the lady in the dress, I did ask if she was my fairy godmother--she said she was, so I asked for a puppy.  Then she admitted that she was getting married.  Her outfit made my day.  I wish I had gotten a better picture, but this one gave me a nice story.

higher and deeper

Last week, Mt. Bachelor got hammered with 100" of snow in seven days.  The difference between the two weekends was incredible.  One weekend, I drove all the way to the parking lot with views of grass and rocks beside the road, and had to ski around trees and rocks poking up in the middle of runs.  The next weekend, my tiny car didn't have the ground clearance to swim all the way across the parking lot--which they hadn't been able to sufficiently plow--, six-foot walls left by snowplows bordered the road, and the still-raging storm kept the power company from supplying a steady stream of juice for the lifts.  Only two chairs (and a bunny slope) were running, and most of the mountain was put on wind hold with gusts of up to 100 mph at the summit.

I made a short day Saturday, because I wasn't certain I could get my car back out of the lot, and between the anxious throngs of people waiting in long lines for slow generator-driven chairs and terrible visibility at the top of Pine Marten chair, it wasn't worth it to me.  Besides, I'd already gotten a call from a co-worker and his son who had had enough and wanted a ride back to town.

In return, they offered me a ride up and back on Sunday--the catch was that his son would be done with his lesson at 3, and that would mark the end of our day.  My usual schedule was cut a little short, but with conditions only slightly improved over Saturday, I still had plenty of fun.  I spent most of my afternoon skiing through the trees on the Skyliner chair, wandering through copses and clearings I'd never known were there.

I also experimented a little with cold-weather garb.  I wore a pair of liner gloves under my mitts to help my fingers a little (they had gotten very cold the previous weekend), and instead of my usual neoprene mask, I tried a scarf made for me a few Christmases ago.  I could feel cold air coming in, but it allowed for better venting--although the vapor apparently condensed, collected, and rapidly froze.  It only took a couple hours after I broke off the first icicle for this one to form.