General Stark Mountain
UPS AND DOWNS
Picture this: It’s been puking snow for the past 24 hours. The roads are a sloppy mess. I’ve got a to-do list three pages long. Screw it! I’m going skiing. And on days like this, only one place makes me crazy with anticipation: the runs off the single chair at Mad River Glen.
When the rushed breakfast of muffins and ClifBars, the white-knuckle drive up Route 17 and the frantic boot buckling are behind me, I fold myself onto the lonely one-seater, and a profound peace comes over me. It’s so quiet I can hear the snowflakes piling up in my lap. The cellphone is off. Email is a laughable trifle. There’s nothing to think about now but the run down.
Higher and higher, past the midstation and deep into a whiteout, the silence is broken by hoots of delight coming from some vague wonderland to my right. A skier floats beneath me, leaving a contrail of cold vapor. I lick my lips and pump my fingers. This is going to be good.
- Kirk Kardashian