BEYOND
Let the Good Times Roll words :: Jon Turk illustration :: Lani Imre
Last week I was skiing my favourite backcountry lines. But, by the time this magazine reaches your hands, I will be on my mountain bike, on dry ground. I write about snow for the summer issue because every pedal stroke I take this summer, and every morning coffee watching the sunrise, will reflect those thoughts formed on skis. Twenty-five years ago, when I was 51, I stood on my favourite ridge one winter afternoon as the sun was descending behind the peaks. One more run. My companion suggested we drop a steep line on the backside. “The backside?” I asked. “It’s late in the day and it will be dark by the time we climb back up.” My body agreed with this logical assessment and told my think-too-much-know-it-all brain, “I’m old, I’m tired. I’ve done enough for you already. Don’t be greedy. Time to go home.” But my friend insisted, so I told my body: “Shut up. Toughen up. Stop whining. Give’r. Let the good times roll.” I knew it was going to sluff. So, I cut a hard arc on the first turn, and when everything seemed under control, I dropped a couple more. But the sluff was building, and I didn’t like the idea of pin-balling through the neck in the hourglass below, late in the day, when rescue would be complicated by darkness, so I pulled out to let it go. The snow washed past me, stepped down a little, and then a little more, and 96
then, whoosh, it exposed a small vertical band of dark, ominous rock. Voice from the ridgetop. “You okay? Good. Give’r.” “What do you mean, give’r? I’m standing on top of an exposed rock cliff.” Laughter from the ridgetop: “Jump!” Body to think-too-much-know-it-all brain: “See, listen up. I told you this was a dumb idea.” Brain to body, “Time to shut up. Give’r.” So, I launched, got my speed under control, had a glorious run, and, of course, was home late for dinner. No big deal. et the good times roll. Last week, I’m 76 and climbing the same ridge again. When we reach the bench below the crest, I can’t oxygenate well enough. I’m dizzy, disoriented, seeing double. Feeling unstable on my feet. Age is winning over determination. And today, the last steep rise is composed of ugly wind-slab. Body to brain, “We’ve been through this before. You’re old, dude. This is stupid. Time to turn back and ski a mellow tree-line.” Think-too-much-know-it-all brain to lazy, whining, no-good-fornothing body. “Yes, I agree, we’ve been through this before. Too many times. But I’m the boss around here. Listen up. Shake it off.”
