I'm not assertive. Neither is Ben, really, so it was up to Steve to ask. Inside the Whiteface base lodge everything was dark and quiet except for hushed voices from a ?STAFF ONLY? room down the hall. Without hesitation Steve went in. Ben and I stood down the hall, but we could imagine the startled faces of the workers, operators, owners, or whoever was in the meeting room. Steve just walked in and got to the point. ?So, uh, we were wondering if we could get up and ski today-Nordic ski, I mean-on the mountain. Can we just drive up the toll road?? I didn't expect the Alpine resort to have too much sympathy for a couple of be-spandexed college skiers, so I wasn't surprised to get that idea shot down. It looked like we were hiking. Not that it mattered too much; this is the time of the year when skiers are hungriest, and we were about to be fed an early helping of winter pie. This is when I (and I'm sure plenty of others) watch webcams and weather reports for any inclination of snow and jump on it. Tuesday it was Kyle who brought up Whiteface. We were standing in Augsbury ready for a depressing run in the cold, pouring rain when he arrived. ?Snow in the High Peaks tonight!? he said. All of a sudden the mood changed, and all we talked about the entire run was skiing adventures, and who was going to try and get out of what class the next day. Sadly Kyle couldn't make it, but by Wednesday afternoon the webcams were still showing a good amount of winter, and like a spoiled toddler I ran to Ben's room as soon as my last class ended. ?Snow, it's there, lets go!? Some phone tag ensued, and Steve was on board too. So with rock skis in tow (and rollerskis, just in case) we headed out. The energy level skyrocketed when we drove through a mini blizzard just outside of Canton, and like driving through time fast-forward the trees suddenly began to be coated with white. When we pulled into the Whiteface parking lot we were stared up in awe at the massive climb in front of us, and thinking there might be a chance to drive up the road until we reached the snow line. After that idea was denied the only other plan was simple. I've hiked Stowe the past few years, so this was basically be the same scenario. Skis strapped on backpacks, poles in hand, we began the ironic hike under the chairlift. Maybe I'd have more respect for Alpine skiers if they had to actually climb the mountain to get to their fun. Maybe they'd have more respect for us, too. As we ascended we entered a different world. Fog surrounded us and it became impossible to see how high we had gone, and how much further we had to go. We ran into some construction midway up the mountain, but after that the rest of humanity was as distant as summer felt. After exploring a few good spots, we finally found a worthwhile stretch of (basically) skiable snow. The kind of snow where every once in a while your forward motion is completely stopped by a rock that rips away at your ski base like a potato skinner. In the end we worked with a hundred meter stretch of slightly uphill terrain. It's hard to explain that first feeling back on snow. Its kind of like getting a test back and realizing that all the studying paid off in a big way. It wasn't the skiing that makes good technique easy (or possible), but we were so enthralled with the idea of what we were doing and where we were that it didn't make a difference. We hiked back down in the dark, stopped for pizza in Lake Placid and made it back in time to brag to all our friends before bed. ?Hey guess what? I just went f*%#ing skiing! Yeah, real skiing!? I announced to my floor. Now I had some assertiveness. First day of the 08/09 snow season? In the bank.
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