February Fog Skiing
A storm had moved in dumping snow on the local mountains. For the first time since Christmas, when I was out of town, skiing was possible on Mt. Baldy so after waiting for the black ice to melt from the sinuous road up the mountain, I dashed to the resort's parking lot where my Mustang convertible kept true on the road despite a layer of snow.
When I took the first chair lift up the mountain to the resort, fog started to curl around the chair. Visibility dropped to just a few ski lengths.
Tentatively I pushed off at the top. Once I got my ski legs back under me I skied only as fast as would allow me to swerve around a downed snowboarder who emerged out of the gray cloud that encased me.
Although it had been less than a year, I had forgotten how exhilarating skiing can be. I'm not great on them but flying down a slope friction-free with the wind in your face, through snow clad pines around you, is a thrilling way to spend a day.
A few times snow flurries fell. Then I reached up and noticed that the heavy fog had condensed on my beard freezing into icicles, giving a whole new meaning to the term gray beard.
After day of fun, I woke the next day deliciously sore from well worked muscles, but realizing that despite my usual dedicated to getting enough exercise, I need to do more just to keep pace as we age.
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