Lured by crazy easy access, gumbies and otens throw themselves at 50 degree headwalls beneath 747 sized rotting cornices like it was liberty bowl on Lone Peak. I launch into an old favorite, friend photographing from rock star vantage. The snow pack in the tooths this year is pushing 200%, meaning cornices really are 747 sized and head walls are higher and steeper; As I crest the horizon and commit to the line this becomes clear. Suddenly, everything I know about steep skiing flowed back in and snapped into focus. One of the best things about this sport is that an athlete can call on decades of muscle memory long after most other sports' athletes have hung up the cleats. In this sport one is the ball. My biggest kick is rolling the ball down the most asthetic least probable lines. Remember Marble Madness for 8-bit Nintendo? You are the ball.
Most folks on the Highway are trying to be seen at the poma lift in their summer swag, the older gentleman keeps a lower profile. Summer swag is cool, but winter swag is always in the pack. I round a bend in the highway and a liter of rain and gropple is forced through my half-open window by a 50 mph gust.
Most folks also use the highway as an end in itself, as I did once. This year skiing on the highway was simply training for the main objective. In addition to skiing, cycling at 11,000 feet is a pretty unique opportunity (cycle up, ski down, repeat). This helped me take my pulse rate from 77 to 50 in just two weeks (!).
As the week ended I cemented plans and took two full rest days (crucial). Week two would be game day.
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