You Make Me Feel Like Dancing ...

The other night I may have figured out why snowboarding can be so enjoyable. It's got the grace, fluid movements, freedom of expression, and athletic demands of ballroom dancing. At least it can. At least it seems like it would.

Now, I'm no ballroom dancer. I took a class in it once, 6 weeks long or so, and I could never remember the steps, and never felt comfortable when I could remember. And I am more likely to take a fast way down the piste--even in the vertically challenged Midwest--than playfully swirl and twirl.

Yet a snowboard allows a person to be, compared with skiing, light on the feet. Both feet work as one. The boots are much lighter. And yes, it can be easy to make spins.

I may change my mind. Maybe snowboarding isn't like ballroom dancing after all. But until then, it works for me.

Gimmie Light

The best kind of lighting for snowboarding: full sunlight. The second best: artificial lights in full power.

I'm going to expand on my previous comments on night sliding. In most cases, there will be a limited number of runs open. It's going to be colder out. And you can't see as well.

Still, there's something appealing about the night life. The lights cheat the darkness by exposing the snow. Instead of sitting in front of the TV, you're being active. You also see the terrain with new eyes.

But what of those in-between hours, especially on cloudy days? When the sky is merely dark gray, not black? When the lights have been turned on, but they're not terribly visible? Yuck.

The other day I bought a pair of night vision goggles. Sounds pretty cool, like something that Army Rangers would use to hunt down the bad guys. Extend your capabilities, and all that.

And for the most part, they worked. On occasion I had to lift my goggles up (while riding the lift) to let some condensation out. But they worked flawlessly on the slopes during 3 hours of night skiing.

I had figured that I would get just plain old clear plastic, but the shop owner said that these items, with a greenish tint, were specifically designed to filter out the glare of man-made lights. They did seem to work better than the old amber shades that I use for bright light.

Then again, maybe it was a placebo effect. I'll have to do a comparison sometime.

Win, THEN Celebrate

Lindsey Jacobellis had a wide lead at the end of the first-ever Olympic race in boardercross. And then she blew it with a showboating trick gone awry. She tried a little trick (a "method air") to please the crowd and enjoy the moment--and then crashed on her butt. She got to her feet just in time to see the would-have-been second place finisher ride right past her to an easy gold medal finish.

Far be it from me to criticize the skills of Jacobellis. She could outride me any time, any place, with her eyes shut and her body wracked by the stomach flu.

It's her judgment that is questionable. Granted, the men's winner, Seth Wescott, tried the same trick in nearly the same situation. He succeeded. If he values having a gold medal, he should count himself lucky.

I have some idea of the enthusiasm that snowboarders have, even if I never have tried a "method air." So the attraction of, as the argot goes, throwing down a little trick is understandable. And in the bag of snowboarding tricks, the method air is pretty tame stuff--something that a pro can execute in her sleep 19 times out of 20.

It's that 20th time that is the problem. In sport as in life, the unexpected happen. The NFL kicker with the long, true leg, shanks a 30-yard field goal that would have won the game. A Cy Young award-winning pitcher can throw a wild pitch.

The key is not to eliminate accidents--that's not possible--but to minimize the possibility of their happening by not doing things you don't have to do to win. In this case, showboating, while necessary for a superpipe competition, is not necessary for a racing event. There's no need. So why bother?

Pundits and fans alike started thinking of comparisons to understand the magnitude of what it meant to "pull a Jacobellis." Mike Wangrin, of the San Antonio News Express, has compiled the best list of analogies I have seen to date.

Here's his list:

"Sean Jackson had broken free for an apparent 53-yard touchdown reception in the 2005 Army All-American Bowl at the Alamodome when he spread his arms in a swan dive and dove toward the end zone. He landed at the 1-yard line."

A good start, though it didn't change Jackson's NFL prospects. And though Wangrin doesn't give any account of the game's final score, it doesn't matter. The All-American Bowl is an all-star game--an exhibition.

Cleveland linebacker Dwayne Rudd celebrated what he thought was a game-ending sack of Kansas City quarterback Trent Green by ripping off his helmet and tossing it in the air while pounding his chest. Problem was, Green had lateraled the ball to tackle John Tait. Rudd was flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct, and Morten Andersen kicked a 30-yard field goal for Kansas City's 40-39 victory.

OK, we're getting closer. A better analogy might have been a showboating pass (if there is such a thing) conducted with 1 second left by QB that leads to a game-winning interception.

Kansas State was leading Colorado 76-74 with two seconds left in the first round of the 2003 Big 12 basketball tournament in Kansas City when the Buffaloes' inbound pass was picked off by KSU's Pervis Pasco, who began running with his index finger pointing skyward. He was right -- there was still a little more than a second left, and he was called for traveling. Colorado's James "Mookie" Wright banked in the winning 3-pointer at the buzzer.

This works as well as the NFL example above--but it also suffers from having to depend on the intervention of an official. No ruling from a ref was required to give Tanja Frieden (the actual if not projected winner) the chance to seal the deal.

The Mets were down 5-3 in the bottom of the 10th inning of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series and the Red Sox were an out away from their first title since 1918. The Shea Stadium scoreboard operator had already programmed the message "CONGRATULATIONS RED SOX, 1986 WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS." Sox starter Roger Clemens had just finished shaving in preparation for postgame interviews. Fellow pitcher Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd popped a bottle of champagne. And then ... Mookie Wilson ... ground ball ... Bill Buckner ... heartache.

More on the mark. All that was required for a Sox win was for Buckner to do his job--field a routine grounder. All Jacobellis had to do was do her job--finish out the race without "style" but success.

Wangrin offers four other examples, none of which are as good as the Buckner goof:

- Chinese officials listen to the announcement of who will be awarded the 2002 summer Olympics. They hear Beijing, and start celebrating--even though "Beijing" was uttered not as the name of the winner but as the first in a list of cities that were finalists.

- The 2001 World Championships in swimming. The Australian team was disqualified after a premature celebration of a would-have-been victory.

- A Kentucky-LSU contest in basketball. (Premature celebration by UK fans was involved, but the difference was what happened on the field.)

- A water polo match between Hungary and Italy (unnecessary penalty involved).

- Carl Lewis (showboating cost him a world record but not the race).

A wise man once said "there is nothing new under the sun." So there have likely been other, and better examples.

Apres-Ski or Just Apres?

On a recent weekend trip I stopped into a slopeside bar for a stop at the restroom and at the water fountain. (Though I have been known to enjoy a brew from time to time, I refrain from drinking while I'm skiing or riding. I'm already starting to get dehydrated; alcohol doesn't help.)

The bar, like many, was bringing in a musical act for Saturday night. They were, as you would expect, LOUD. I did not stay long. It simply would not be comfortable.

But I stayed long enough to see a number of people milling around in jeans. Now, this may be the Midwest and not Vail, so informality is the norm. But even here, most people wear snow gear, not street clothes, when they go to the slopes.

Now, it's possible that most of the people I saw drove to the area in jeans, switched to ski pants for the day, and then went back to civilian clothes. But I wonder if any of them decided to "apres" without the "ski."

It's been known to happen.

That Was Wimpy

Mrs. Grays on Trays (who is neither gray nor a tray rider, err, snowboarder) accompanied me to a ski hill.

Her reaction to my piperiding: "That was wimpy."

Wow. Sounds like I better get to work! Actually, my excursion was meant to be wimpy. There's something about the pipe that is intimidating and calls for extra attention to the principle of take-it-easy building of skills.

Get into a turn at the top of the pipe wall and falter, and you fall on your face. Get too much speed going up the wall and don't get the turn started, and you can fly out. Oh, that's fine for Shaun White, but me? Haha! There's also the potential (I've never kept enough speed long enough to know if this is true) of getting dizzy by being whipped around the various turns--sort of like being on a roller coaster.

Of course, there are times when it's more difficult to ride more slowly than with some speed. Maybe another day.

Slip-Sliding Away

What happens when you start sliding down a steep hill? On your back? Yikes!

I rode the top half of one hill, the half that is less steep, and planned to follow a cutoff catwalk over to an adjacent trail that would lead me to a lift closer to the parking lot. (I was working my way back to the lodge.)

As I approached the cat, I could see that it was rather chopped up, much unlike the packed surfaces I had been riding on all day. So I (unwisely) came to a stop. That is, I stopped a few feet below the cat, and I was in no mood to climb uphill.

So, I thought, time to confront the steep final pitch of the hill. It's not my favorite terrain: I can manage it fairly well, but only if I take turns so wide that I am nearly out of speed when I got to the bottom. Since the closest lift was closed that day, I would have to walk a while.

Oh well. I had to do what I had to do. So time to head downhill. But I was at the edge of the trail. I set off, but things did not go so well. Instead of starting a traverse to set up my first turn, I started going straight downhill--oops! not what I wanted! -- and fell down.

Next thing you know, I'm sliding down a steep pitch (or what passes for one around here, anyway) on my back. Usually I don't fight slides. I picked that habit up while skiing, where you can seriously torque one knee if the ski attached to that leg "takes" and the other one does not.

But I wished that I could think of something else to do. I was sliding. And sliding again. And then some more. Worse, I was slowly rotating clockwise; I could feel the tip of the board wanting to slide uphill. If that trend continued, I would soon be sliding down the run, head-first.

Yikes!

I'm not sure what I did, other than not over-react. I still listed a bit, but I did come to a stop, about 50 feet from the bottom of the run.

Ah well, at least it was a low-census day at the ski area, and seldom did anyone go on that run, so getting in someone's way was not a problem.

Halfpipe Clinic

My how far I've come. Today I took part in a halfpipe clinic. Not that I'm pulling switch rodeo 720 McTwists or anything like that. But I am making tentative steps towards learning a few things about it.

One thing I learned today is that not all pipes are created equal. The very term "pipe" isn't quite correct. It suggests a semi-circle, with a round bottom. If, on the other hand, you look at a pipe used by the top competitors, it's a bit squashed, with a flat bottom of, I'm guessing here, at least 12 feet wide before the transition to the wall kicks in.

The pipe I was looking at today is a lot more rounded than that, which makes it a less than spectacular one. At least for those who know what they are doing.

But here are a couple of thoughts I came across during the clinic, things that might apply to beginners:

- It really shouldn't matter whether the walls are icy or not. Why? When you're going up the wall, your board should be flat on the wall. In other words, no edge.

- Going up the wall, at some point you body ought to be perpendicular to the wall. That means your body ought to be parallel to the flat bottom of the pipe. Yikes! Trying to keep your body upright as you go up the wall only causes problems.

- Compress your legs as you enter from the flat to the transition, but then extend as you go from the transition to the flat. Doing this give you added stability, just as extension while finishing a carving turn adds stability.

Tiny Bubbles

At one of my local ski hills, they have two trails with pretty good bump fields. At least that's what they look like to me; I've tried bumps on skis, without much success, and I've avoided them on the board.

But this ski hill also has two (or maybe three) trails with mini-bumps. These green runs look like great places for people to try a little bump action without getting out of control. Progression. Easy does it. All that. (But no, I haven't tried it!) More ski areas ought to follow this example.

What a Difference a Day--or Hour--Makes

One fascinating part of riding is the changing nature of the experience. Consider two days I went riding this month.

Day one was during the week. It was hard to imagine more perfect weather conditions. The air was warm, the snow was soft, and looking up, you could see a bluebird sky.

So did I have to wait in long lines and deal with lots of people on the green circles? Not on your life.

Oh, five or school buses did pull into the parking lot at one point. But the kids spent a long time in the rental shop. Then folks got them organized into learning stations--at the base of, but not actually using the lifts I was using.

After a while some of them did graduate to the lifts. But then I simply rode over to another side of the ski area. And even though we're not talking about a large facility, the distance was enough. In 90 minutes I shared the lift with, perhaps, 10 people.

I could have used the occasion to ride switch all the time, doing some ground 180 jumps, or try heading off some little kickers, or something like that. Instead, I simply enjoyed cruising down each of the runs. Only longer runs--impossible here in the Midwest--would have made the day better.

Then a few days after that, I went to the same area, on a Saturday. Wow. Though the sky was not overcast, it wasn't bluebird, either. The air temperature was significantly lower: no opening the pit zips that day. The snow was much harder, though still not ice.

And the crowds! No, I did not have to wait in line very long. (My wife remembers her childhood ski trips as little more than very long waits in lift lines.) But I did have to dodge amateurs (kids who pointed their "pizza wedge" straight down the ski) and more advanced riders who were bombing it down the hill.

The Value of Riding Switch (3)

Riding switch can be an awkward--but it can also be a valuable reminder of the fundamentals of snowboarding. (See also here and here.)

I've dialed back my binding angles (from 24 degrees in front to 15, a one-third reduction), so I have had to get a feel for the new setup.

Riding switch the other day reminded me of a common problem: leaning towards the tail of the board. It's a natural tendency, but it is also a self-defeating one. While it comes about from fear, it's the wrong response. If you fall, you fall; it doesn't matter if you were first leaning towards the tip, towards the tail, or were somewhere in between. A fall means you're going to hit the ground and have to get back up, regardless of where you started from.

Leaning back is harmful because it increases the likelihood that you will, in fact, fall. Turns will be more difficult, because you're going to be trying to overcome some extra inertia. You may be tempted to not wait or the natural curvature of the board have its effect. Instead, you may be tempted to push out the tail of the board to work the turn. At best, that leads to a skidded turn; at worst, a fall.

So whether you are riding in your usual stance or riding switch, don't lean back.

I Love the Night Life

This afternoon I went to one of my two home mountains and stayed until the lights came on. There's something beautiful about riding at night, as long as you know the contour of the land. For some odd reason, the drop in temperature was exhilarating.

In the halfpipe

I rode a little halfpipe the other day. No, it wasn't anything spectacular, and it may even have been not up to form. But progression is progression.

The first pipe is natural, shallow, and short. It's perhaps 3 feet tall from the deepest part of the pipe, and half the width of a conventional pipe. I took this twice.

The second pipe is a monster. It's at least 9 feet tall (maybe 12 feet), 15 feet wide, and I don't know how long.

A fellow I met on the lift suggested I simply ride down the middle, and look at it. I did, and was amazed.

The second time through I played off the sides just a little bit. Emphasize "little." My trips up the "wall" were at the most two feet. I was afraid of getting up too much speed--and falling too far down into the transition area--to get up any higher. The key to learning the halfpipe, like anything else in riding, is one step at a time.

New Angles on Board

I tried a new setup lately. Instead of degree angles of 0 and 24, I went with 0 and 15. That is, I decreased the forward lean of my front foot by one-third.

Why? I was told it would make riding switch easier. I'm not sure about that. It took me a while to get used to the new arrangement--and that was just in riding forward. I did not spend much time riding switch.

Body size, riding ability, and experience vary greatly across riders, so there's probably no such thing as the "perfect" stance for all. But some experimentation from time to time might be useful.

Are Those Real Trails, or Just Names?

At one of my local ski areas, I noticed something I had never seen in about 18 or so days of riding there: a catwalk. I noticed it from a chairlift, but also saw that it was fenced off.

Then I looked at the trail map, and sure enough, there was the cat. I also noticed three or four other "trails" that I have never seen open. And they're not necessarily high-skill routes. There are also two trails that I've seen open only twice, on a powder day.

It seems that some skepticism in reading marketing material is in order.