December 23, 2005
I’m not too good with maps. I forget street names easily. When I go places, I always take the route I know, even if someone tells me there is a short cut. I lose my car often in big parking lots.My mom says I’m directionally challenged. She says I picked it up from my father, who earlier this month gave me the wrong directions to their new house on the Front Range.I mention this here because I’m also terrible at remembering the names of runs on a mountain. Other people use this space to recount which runs were their favorite on a particular day, or where the best snow was.I know which runs were my best ones, too. I just don’t remember what they’re called. It’s not so bad. Unlike navigating streets, I’m decent at finding my way around a mountain. I’m pretty good at sniffing out fresh snow, or avoiding big lift lines.If I do remember a run, it’s usually because something memorable happened there. I remember Walsh’s at Ajax because I took too much speed into the catwalk at the bottom and nearly decapitated myself on the ski area boundary rope.I remember Powerline Glades at Snowmass because I ripped a three-inch long chunk of P-tex out of the base of my snowboard there.Maybe a New Year’s resolution would be to try and learn the names of runs, but I doubt I’ll be able to follow through. I’m too much of a space cadet. When I have my headphones in, I tend to just get off the lift and robotically head to wherever it is I think I need to go. Besides, I know my way back to the bottom. That’s the most important thing.