We are back at Canyons, my head full of getting the most out of our day. I take my sweet husband down the black diamonds, through the moguls, with a few steep groomed trails to boot.

Jeff and I take all the different lifts with a little hint of Son of a Boohrye - a High West Distillery Whiskey sitting in a flash.
False courage?
Yes.
Bad idea?
Double Yes?
How easy do the Double Blacks look after a shot of the Booyrah?
Shit, we can do that, it looks like a run on Beech Mountain Resort.
There is one thing to dreaming of going down a double black, then there is doing it.
You start at the top thinking, "This looks like nothing from the lift. What a piece of cake."

10 minutes later you're thinking, "What the hell was I thinking?"
After two falls later, you're thinking, "Oh shit, how much further do I have to go?"
Another 10 minutes later, "I've got to take a break. Shit, is that a little kid shooting by me?"
Another 10 minutes, "If I make it to the bottom, that's it for me today."
Five more minutes later, "Scotty, she can't take much more. My quads are screaming."
Hitting the bottom, "Well shit, that wasn't so bad. That ain't no black diamond."

Oh, and the birthday boy? He didn't have ANY whiskey and hit the biggest jump in the park only to land it in an epic wipeout.
Glad I bought him the new helmet for his birthday.
Glad I'm not taking a trip to the ER.
Glad he still is talking about it as the highlight of his day, because I'm still not recovered from the double black diamond.
Booyrah!
No comments:
Post a Comment