Went Snowboarding. Result: Snow Up My Nose.

 Yesterday, I snowmobiled to the ski hill to practice snowboarding. 

For those who don't know what a snowmobile is, it's somewhat like a motorcycle on skis. It's used primarily to get around on trails covered in snow and up mountains. The more advanced riders (like my uncle Jay) can go up to 100 km/h without vomiting from sheer panic and can also do catwalks. Hooray! 

The ride in was a mile, then past a ski cabin, through a (thankfully empty) lake, and through some trails until you would find a warm-up cabin and a decent ski hill. Unfortunately, it was Friday, so the ski lift wasn't in operation--it only operated on Sundays. So what did I do? I just hiked up the ski hill while carrying a very heavy snowboard. 😢

I would've used the snowmobile to get up there, but there was a big fat sign saying, "SNOWMOBILERS WILL PLEASE STAY OFF THE SKI HILL." So I had to hike. For a million gazillion hours. I frequently collapsed into the deep, powdery snow to rest and catch my breath. I only looked at the ground, because if I looked at my destination it would feel longer. 

I reached the top and tried to strap in, but it was too steep to do that at this point of the hill, so the snowboard kept almost-sliding out of my reach and down the hill. I cried. I cursed. I punched the snowboard as if it would fix the sliding problem. I strapped in one more time and managed to get going, but I'm a wobbly beginner and I fell. The snowboard straps escaped, and I watched with a combination of anger and disappointment as the snowboard slid all the way down the hill in a mildly mocking manner. To the very bottom. Couldn't get it now. 

I cried, streams of snot dribbling out of my nose and into the snow so much that I began to appreciate fully how nice a Kleenex was, but that was a luxury out of my reach in this position. Snot was all over my face, and even though no one was there, I felt embarrassed. Should I go back to the warm-up cabin as a furious, snotty and red-faced mess, or stay up here and wait for either a bear to maul me or a good Sunday when the ski lift was in operation? 

Then I saw, through the blizzard, something unexpected. What could it be...?

Two skiers, walking toward the warm-up cabin. What if it was Hans the Balloon Muse and his wife? Nah, couldn't be. They'd only go up on Sundays. Should I go down?

After a very long time, I just sprinted. Down the deep snow. Sometimes falling over. I angrily grabbed my snowboard, which was sitting there looking not nearly as guilty as it should've been, and walked to the cabin. 

Inside, I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I just searched for Kleenex in my backpack, checked on the sausages that were sizzling on the woodstove, and checked my reflection in my sunglasses. At least I was no longer red-faced and covered in, uh, you know. 

Turns out the skiers were a French couple. I sat down and had a conversation with the lady, Gabriela, and felt a little better. Gabriela encouraged me to keep snowboarding and to not give up. Then she peeled an orange and gave me half. She's a good sort. 

We talked about snowboarding, why oranges make mist, painting, dogs, etc. Then Gabriela started talking to her husband Joshua in gentle but very fast French, and I wondered why they had made the sudden language switch. Maybe to talk about how I looked almost-dead lying on that ski hill. Or just random stuff that I would have no interest in. 

We had to leave. I petted their very large dog, and waved goodbye, and I snowmobiled away for a short break at the empty lake/ski cabin place. I found a weird tiny luge thing, but I wasn't so sure it was a luge. It was black plastic, with a place possibly to lay your head on, and two thick bars curving out. I thought that was weird because it was almost impossible to rest my feet on, and it didn't go very fast either. Maybe it was just some kind of... I don't know. I carried on to the parking lot on the snowmobile. 

I walked along the snowbank while my parents and uncle talked to their friend Morse, plus another guy. I fell on the snowbank, making a weird oof sound when I hit the ground. Morse laughed. I felt equal parts happy and offended. After a million gazillion years of cold toes and cold everything and wet gear and zero food, we returned home like a pair of icicles sneaking back into a thawing freezer, grateful to be near anything that wasn't trying to bite our toes.