A Big Box O'Fun

My freestyle repertoire is rather small. But recently, I added to it.

I've had my eye on trying some boxes. These are rectangular items in the snow, in a terrain park, upon which you slide on and then off.

There are three things that scare me away. One is how to get on the box. Often, there's a small ramp of snow up to the start of the box, except that the ramp may have a gap, so that you have to do a little jump onto the box.

The second concern is what to do on the box. Will I fall off? If so, will that hurt?

The third concern is how to leave the box when the time comes. Will the drop-off be too far? Will I land improperly and thus fall?

Well, I was going through a terrain park of small features, and saw the perfect box. It was low to the ground. There was no huge drop-off at the end, and it seemed to be nearly flush with the snow at the beginning.

The most enticing part of the feature? This wasn't just a standard box, which is perhaps a foot wide. This box was the size of a small car.

Not exactly, but it was about 4 feet wide. So in other words, slide on, and there's no chance that you're going to slide off to the side. Navigating this feature would require getting on the box and simply keeping the same pose: look forward; don't bend at the waist; and bend at the knees. With that huge margin of error, I could do that.

So on a second look at the box, I got closer, and scrubbed enough enough speed. Then I did my best freestyle competition imitation, and went down the fall line, onto the box.

I slid on. I slid off. Yipee!

It's nothing great in the history of freestyle, but it's enjoyable and encouraging to add a few new skills to the toolbox.

Maybe the soft snow of Spring will invite further experimentation.

A Powder(ish) Day at the "Mountain"

While there were 9 or 10 new inches of snow at the local resorts, I missed out on the best stuff.

Through a combination of choosing the biggest, most used ski area around and not getting there until nearly noon, I missed out on the biggest powder dump of the season. Sigh.

Yes, it would have been nice to get there earlier, but there's no use getting myself stuck in the ditch in pursuit of the good stuff. So I waited until the roads were more clear. I'm thinking that the most definite way of getting some good powder runs is to take one of those cat trips in the back country, out west. Lots of great lines, but lots of money, too--more so than even your usual expense of riding.

I did manage to catch a glimpse of the powder now and then. Not a lot, but enough to remind me of what it is like. And it was a good day all the same.

At least I can think back to memories of a powder day at Vail. (Check out the photos from the archives.)

A Powder Morning in the (City) Park

So we finally got a powder day. And all I got is crud.

People who don't live in Minnesota think that because it's cold here, we must get a lot of snow.

Not true.

Unlike western Michigan, Cleveand, or Buffalo and western New York state, we don't have one of the Great Lakes off to the west. Hence, the air that comes from the west is usually dry, which is not a really good thing if you would like to see a lot of snow.

In addition, when snow does fall here, it doesn't stay powder very long. Most skiers and riders aren't used to it, and since it's not regularly replenished, it turns to crud, and eventually bumps, very quickly. (One "horror" I witnessed: riding on a layer of "dust on crust," what usually passes for powder here, while watching a groomer work the other side of the hill, taking out all the powder before it was even tracked out!)

But yesterday, I woke up to 9 or 10 inches of snow in the driveway. As I shoveled out, I was listening to a podcast, during which someone estimated that thanks to labor-saving devices, the modern American has the equivalent of 300 servants at his disposal.

A few minutes after that, my next-door neighbor came over with his snow blower (!) and cleared out the three-quarters of the driveway that was left.

Unsure of the road conditions so early in the day, I walked over to a local park, and earned some runs through walking up the hill. The experience brought back some elements of childhood, to be sure, but not exactly the thrill. The hill should have been steeper for the amount of snow on the ground. I had always wondered what it would be like to take some runs on that space, in powder. I got the chance, which isn't to say that it's worth doing again.

One thing that might be worth repeating is building a kicker. I see kids building kickers are ski areas all that time, but the snow there is usually so hard that going off them is not appealing.

But today ... in that soft stuff. Why not?

One key word in snowboarding is "progression," which means little-by-little, taking on bigger challenges. I started out with a very small kicker, and ended up with ... a small kicker, perhaps 18 inches tall. Slide down to the kicker, jump off, ride out, walk up, add to the kicker, walk up some more, and then repeat.

Eventually I got to perhaps 2 feet in the air, though even that might be an overly generous estimate. What I lacked in altitude I made up for in style. Not "stylish," but merely good form. I find myself bending at that waist whenever I get the slightest air, and of course, that's bad news. Bad because it puts me in a position to fall. But on the descents over the kicker, I managed to bend my knees, not my waist, and I had a good jump every time.

Now if I just had plenty of powder to try this again and again.

It's unlikely that I'll get very good at jumps, though. If I ever had that much snow to play with, it would probably happen only on a big mountain. And in that case, playing around with a kicker would be a waste of time. I'd be cruising, taking in the acreage and thousands of feet of vertical descent.

A Cold Day in Snowboard Instruction

Back-to-back-to-back! What a day of giving lessons.

I've got a long drive to my teaching "mountain," but with the iPod, it isn't so bad. In fact, it's a time that I can use to catch up on some radio programs I have missed. I still wish that the place was closer to home, but I really enjoy the people there.

Sometime after I arrived, I saw David, another instructor. We ended up parking next to each other. He led our new instructor's clinic last year. He’s one of the older “young” guys, and he has a young child, which I like. A little more relate-to-able than some of other instructors. I told him about the trip to Aspen and how I had enjoyed teaching my sister-in-law how to ride. He had two boards with him, and one had Flow bindings from about five years ago. I mentioned my strong belief in that design, and he said that he thought it was good for beginners.

I clocked in at 9:30 and wandered around a bit waiting for the 9:50 “bell.” (We met at a picnic shelter with a bell inside it.) I saw Brenda, another instructor. She's somewhat older than me. I've shadowed her in a few lessons, and we easily talk with each other. I hung out with her until 10 and then, as she was gathering her students, I went off for some solo riding for 45-50 minutes.

I spent a week in Aspen, and I was reminded again that I am back in the Midwest. Just as I’m warming up on my slide down the hill, the trail comes to a end. I’ll say this in in the favor of my home place, though: the snow was nicely groomed, and you could still see the seams in places.

Oddly enough, I found one place where I didn't like snow being groomed: on one of the "road" trails. Normally it’s an enjoyable trip. The road gives me that feeling of a kid running through the woods. But this morning the seams slowed me down. So I went back to some steeper slopes.

At 10:45 I showed up at the bell to see if there were any students for me. Oh yes there were. Four. Four! Three adults and a youngster. One guy was late teens/early 20s. Then there was another guy, with his 12-year old daughter, and a friend of his visiting from out of town. Oddly enough, the young man had the most difficult time of the four. He was particularly troubled by the bindings. I don't know why he had trouble, but he just couldn't get the boots to click. (They are step-ins.) After a while it became obvious that there were differing levels of ability in the group. I hate it when that happens, but it’s inevitable. The 12-year old was doing so-so, as was the out-of-town guest. The dad (a skier) did really well.

The lesson ran long. Mine always do; I like to give the students a lot to work on. After we broke up, I had enough time to go to the car, get some food, and return to the bell with a few minutes to spare before the next appointed meeting.

I'm at the bell, talking with two of the younger instructors when the ski school director calls my name. I've got four more students: a guy and his teenaged son, and two other people. (As I write this now, names from the two lessons are merging and I can’t remember the two other people.) As with the first group, some students did better than others, and I spend a lot of time shuttling between a more advanced student, to the person having a lot of trouble with the very basics, to the person who gets some things but not others. Do I like private lessons! It's so much easier to concentrate on one student.

Time's up--beyond up, really--and we scatter. I return to my car for another snack, and head back to the bell. Should I ask to be let free, or should I volunteer for another lesson?

Go see if there’s a need for another lesson, I think. It’s not like I’m missing out on some best-in-world terrain if I spend some more time on the bunny hill.

The director says "You haven't ridden a lot. Are you ready for another lesson?" He says that he's got two more adults for a lesson. Seeing that they're adults--a demographic I don't get to teach that often--I say "sure." After all, I'm here to get experience teaching, right?

This class consists of a young guy and his girlfriend. As I start the lesson, I go back to the basics, talking about the shape of the board, how to fall, and so forth. As I tick off these points, I wonder if I have made them to the other two classes. Back-to-back-to-back can be demanding, I am learning.

The guy does fairly well once we get going. The girl is always one step behind. It’s back to the split attention mode again. Give him one drill, give her another. I feel sorry for her; I’d like so much to see her “get it,” and I wonder if there’s something else I can do to help. My mind goes blank, except for the thought that everyone progresses at different speeds.

My work suddenly becomes easier, though for the wrong reasons. The girl takes an awkward fall and lands on her wrist. She suspects a sprain and says that she’s going in. Both of the students had been on rollerblades, and she says that she has broken her wrist before, so she knows what a badly hurt wrist feels like. It isn’t broken, but she needs to stop.

I spend another 50 minutes with the guy. The light is starting to fade, which is difficult for anyone, but especially a beginner. He has some successes, and a lot of wipeouts. Still, he doesn’t seem to mind. I encourage him that a maniacal attitude is good; that’s how I learned how to ride.

After the lesson, I think about catching some riding on my own. But the window of opportunity for riding the bumps has gone. They’re too icy now. So too, I suspect, is the giant headwall. It would have made a fun challenge early in the day, but now it would just be a nasty get-through-it experience. I decide to pack it in.

I go back to my car and swap my snowboard boots for some worn out, floppy shoes that I use for driving. Usually I take a big plastic bin o’ gear from the car to the lodge and change: off with the impact shorts, off with the knee pads, on with the shorts that I wear over my long underwear. But today I’m just cold and want to get going.

So who should I meet in the parking lot? David. The same guy I started the day with. We talk about the lessons we gave. Since I’m a freelance worker in my day job, this is about the only time that I get to talk shop with someone who does the same kind of work that I do.

I’ve been outside in the 20 degree cold (with a few indoor breaks) for nearly 8 hours. More than half that time I’ve been walking around talking with people, observing students, and otherwise not even on my board, let alone riding. But it’s been a good day in the snowboarding world anyway.

Exploring New Terrain

Snowboarding works best when there is a mix of familiar and unfamiliar terrain. Recently I visited Aspen/Snowmass, and got to ride both familiar and unfamiliar terrain.

The familiar terrain included Buttermilk. Though it's home of the X Games, my riding is not quite X-like. The superpipe was not yet open to the public, and neither was the slopestyle course. That didn't matter, though. I did make some turns in a small halfpipe that was not too far from the superpipe.

What I like the most about Buttermilk is the close-in nature of some of the slopes on the west side. They're easy green runs (with a few interesting blue spots mixed in), but many are lined with trees, making for a pleasant gallery of natural beauty.

Another day I went to Snowmass. That was a mix of familiar with unfamiliar. Elk Camp and the Big Burn are both suitable for intermediate cruisers, fairly-to-completely open. It was good to be back with old friends.

But I also enjoyed visiting new terrain, including the Campground region of Snowmass. I won't say that it was any better than the rest of Snowmass, but trying out new slopes was like opening a new present.

Finally, I had all sorts of new presents at Aspen mountain (Ajax). I'm not sure that I need to go back to it, but I am glad that I visited it.

One appealing element of snowboarding is that, if you wish there's always something new. Mix in something new with something old, and you have quite a past time.