Skiing: Not All It’s Cracked Up to Be?
This is our fourth winter in Colorado, and I have yet to hit the slopes.
I ski – not well, but I do ski. I was never one of those toddlers, flying down the mountain at supersonic speeds, devoid of fear. Instead, I learned to ski as a teen, on a winter break trip to West Virginia with a friend and her family.
I’m sure the idea of learning to ski in West Virginia is laughable to Coloradans. Even more hysterical though, most of my friends learned to ski in Ohio.
I’ve skied out west once – at Mount Hood Ski Bowl in Oregon. All of my other ski junkets have been in Pennsylvania, New York and New Jersey. We never even made it up to Vermont. I’m accustomed to skiing on ice; fresh powder remains an unrealized dream.
Skiing is expensive and inconvenient. I’ve got my own skis, boots, and poles, but they’re all more than twenty years old. Even if I got my skis waxed and sharpened, it would be logistically difficult to haul them along with three kids and suitcases up to the mountains. And honestly, since they’re practically antiques, I’d no doubt see some furtive sideways glances and giggling behind hands.
As clumsy as I am, I really do have a great time skiing – once I’m all suited up and standing in the lift line. Up until that point, it takes everything I’ve got not to chuck it all and go sit in the bar instead. Getting there is most definitely NOT half the fun.
Plus, since it takes more than an hour to get to the nearest slopes, a day trip really doesn’t make sense. With all the logistical hurdles on either end, I’d spend four hours skiing, tops. So it’s necessary to find accommodations, which tacks on another couple hundred bucks to the already eye-popping price of a lift ticket.
Therefore, even though I enjoy skiing and would love to experience what draws people to Colorado from all over the country, living in Denver doesn’t make world-class skiing any more accessible to me than it was in Dayton.