We all dread the in-between season- you know, those (hopefully) few weeks when there’s not enough snow to ski and it’s too cold to bike or climb. You can feel it in this town when it starts- they sky gets grey, the leaves get brown, and everyone, from professors to baristas, gets grumpy. I guess it’s cool that people here like doin’ stuff so much, but it definitely makes for a few lame weeks.
We’re in the thick of in-between season right now. It’s been kind of casually spitting snow, which just makes riding a bike miserable and climbing chilly. There’s been barely enough to go ski without sacrificing considerable p-tex, so last weekend we were faced with a daunting question: what do normal people do with their time?
Answer: crafts. Yes, crafts. Like with yarn. I spent the entire day on Saturday gathering craft supplies and planning all sorts of hats. The end of the afternoon saw me sitting amidst a huge pile of scraps and snippings, crocheting like a fiend and drinking rum like a pirate. (Another popular in-between season activity)
At one point we attempted to go out and see a concert downtown, but failed pretty solidly; being too cheap to buy tickets, we tried to watch it from the parking garage, got in trouble, and ended up just going home to go do more crafts. In-between season sucks.
So on Sunday when we saw white stuff falling, we gathered our ski goodies and made a gigantic, bacon-filled breakfast. Accumulation was virtually nil, winds were prophesied to be about 30mph up top, and temps were not dropping, but these were not important factors to us anymore. Another day would not be spent among the yarns.
The skin up was lovely thanks to the fact that I enjoy moving more than crocheting, and I soon found myself at the top of the Nose, a place I realized I haven’t seen in two years. We clicked in gleefully, exchanged chocolate and high-fives, then dove into a sharkpit of barely-covered rocks.
This was a day to float like a butterfly only; there would be no stinging like bees.Sure, even our butterflyest floating resulted in some pretty nasty scrapes to the bases, but we didn’t care; we were skiing!
I dropped into a couloir and promptly crashed into the other side, which effectively destroyed my mojo for the rest of the steep and left me to hack my way through like a scared goat. Skiing is such a strangely mental sport sometimes- a good scare (at least for me) can derail even a consistent snow day, and with conditions as they were, I kind of collapsed a little inside.
Yet towards the bottom, where things opened up and the snow was sticking a little better, we had some fun. Sam was whooping like some kind of animal, and we all dissolved into giggles, German accents, or both on numerous occasions. The snow wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible either, and either way it sure beat a day knitting with Captain Morgan.