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One of my local areas is already selling passes for next season. I’m comparing the options among areas within a short driving distance. One is slightly larger, but another has a deeper vertical drop–though it’s not a difference any normal person would recognize. Ten feet, I think. But even a hundred feet, which would make a difference around here, would be unnoticeable in the Rockies.

But such is the plight of us in the Midwest. Still, it beats eating potato chips on the couch.

When I looked at the web site of my newly favorite local ski area, it said that five new inches of snow were on the ground. Yeehaw!

The day reminded me of how good powder can be, and that it is too bad we don’t have it here more often. I tooled around all types of runs–wide open, trees, greens, blacks, and even the terrain park. OK, so I only thought of sliding on the funbox, but I was there.

Also enjoyable: happening upon four fellow “grays.” I started out meeting only two of the group, and the three of us rode around for about 45 minutes until we got separated from each other. But here’s one odd thing: all three of us were riding goofy. How often does that happen that three randomly selected riders all have a goofy stance?

After I got separated from the other two, I worked my way across the ski area until, at one edge of it, I met up with the original two, plus two others. It was great to spend some time riding around with all of you! Maybe we will meet up on another day.

What a difference a day makes! After a 5 inch dump last night, I spent much of the day riding in the powder at what may become my favorite local area. But getting there was a challenge.

Of course, the snow that makes for good riding or skiing can make for treacherous driving. It took me a little bit longer than the usual driving time, but the drive was a bit more hairy than usual. Of particular note: the pickup truck driver who passed me, then settled down in my lane, not too far ahead of me, right as I was approaching my exit from the highway. Thanks to your inconsiderate behavior, I could not see the road with enough confidence to know exactly where the exit was. The only thing I could see through the snow you were shedding on my windshield was your tailgate.

My consolation: At least I didn’t end up in the ditch from misjudging the exit’s location. That and the fact that the next exist was only a mile away.

Midwest Mess: What a Comedown
I went out to my little Midwestern hill today, but came home after only two runs. I knew it would be a comedown from a trip to the West, but I did not realize how much.

Ice. Bad light. Already small terrain restricted by ropes setting off not one but two racing areas.

I must total up the days I have spent there recently. The season pass may not have been worth it.

(This entry may be overly technical for some readers. You’ve been warned. Also, it’s not necessarily useful for everyone. The points here were derived from an analysis of my own riding style, which may not resemble yours. For one thing, I ride “goofy,” or right foot forward. That already puts me in the minority of snowboarders.)

Use Foot steering. This technique, which is available only if the board has some flex, provides a feathered approach to edge change. It works on both toe to heel and heel to toe turns. Whichever direction you are turning, make the change in your leading foot first, and your trailing foot slightly thereafter. Think of it in 4/4 time: 1, 2: leading toe, trailing toe; leading heel, trailing heel. At the moment I cannot remember what benefit this delivers, but I know that it works. Nobody in my lessons in the Midwest told me about it; I get the impression that it’s a relatively new idea.

Put your knee out. When turning toeside to heelside, push out the leading knee and ankle, and even the toes. By doing this, you are putting more weight over the toeside edge, thus helping the natural sidecut of the board take over and lead you into a turn.

Which brings us to the next point …

As you start to start the toeside to heelside turn, stand up. Why? One, it makes sure that your weight is stacked up properly—shoulder, hips, ankles aligned. Two, it gives you a starting position from which to put the knee out. If you are already in a crouched position, how are you going to get the advantage of sticking out your knee?

Remember, if you’re traversing on the heelside, your weight is going to be on the heelside of the board. And if you then want to turn and ride on the toeside, you’re going to end up with the weight on the toeside of the board.

How do you get there? One way is to stand up, and shift the weight from the heelside of the board to neutral, to (after steering) the toeside of the board.

Steer, then edge. This is of particular use on toeside to heelside turns. There’s that slight moment of fear, when the board is going down the fall line. Then, and only then, do you start the turn (e.g., stick your knee out of the leading foot—which will cause the board to turn from the tip backwards).

Keep your hands low. Avoid the temptation to “fly” with your hands raised high in the air. Yes, you can use it to point in the right direction. But it comes at a price. First, you burn energy by holding your arms up. Two, it robs you of the chance to regain your balance by lifting your arms up in the air when it is required.

By contrast, the school has two figures of speech to describe the practice in-the-air practice. Two hands in the air: bringing home the groceries. One hand in the air: the mystery date.

Try the steering wheel drill: think of a steering wheel at the tip of the board, and keep your hand down there, by the tip, moving the board.

Align your shoulders, hips, and ankles over each other while you are traversing.

Be 50/50. It’s better to lean towards the tip of the board than towards the tail of the board. But it’s better to keep your weight centered from tip to tail. One advantage: it keeps the quads of your leading leg from getting overused.

Tip to the inside of the turn, not the outside of the turn. Lean into the hill rather than down the hill.

Match edge angle with speed. During one of the drills, I washed out on a toeside to heelside turn. Why? I was using a high edge angle, but my speed wasn’t fast enough to support it. A combination of high angle and low speed means that you are pushing the board out of the snow—not what you want to do.

Use subtle movements. Make “progressive” movements, not sudden ones. Think of it as analogue rather than digital. Gradual, not on/off.

When riding toeside, do not be too quick to look downhill. Look where you are going. So when I am traversing toeside, look toward the tip, and don’t be so quick to look over your shoulder to look downhill. That will cause your board’s tail to … turn in the wrong way.

Take advantage of your stance. For me, the toeside to heelside turn is easier to do than the heelside to toeside turn. Why? Because, with a moderately forward stance (20 degrees), and a goofy stance, my binding pushes me that way anyway. So think “1-2-3” on heelside to toeside, but only “1” on toeside to heelside turns.

As you are traversing heelside, a slight look uphill will slow your speed. This happens (or can happen) by using the radius of the board to head (a little bit) back up the hill.

Overall impression: I started out making something like jump-turns on heelside to toeside turns (because my weight was too far towards the heelside when I started to make the turn.) By making a few small adjustments, especially standing up as I start the heelside to toeside turn, I made more graceful, smoother turns.

What a sad twist of irony: bluebird days are indeed the best day to fly. We woke up this morning to a fine bluebird day. Not a cloud in the sky. Tons, literally, of new snow on the ground. And I had to leave it all.

Throughout the week, the weather forecast had said that Thursday would be the only sunny, clear day of the week. As I had watched other people in my ski party have to wait a few extra hours at the airport, or even stay overnight due to a cancelled flight, I had pinned my hopes for an uneventful exit on the forecast.

So when I saw the sky this morning, I knew that my travel plans would not be frustrated; I would leave town this day. But how I didn’t want to.

Today I made the most stupid decision of the trip: I left my board in the hotel room and took my skis out into the powder.

When faced with the decision of whether to ride or ski today, I thought that it would be good to go back to skis, so I could join my father-in-law in any terrain he would choose to enjoy. Two days ago, when I went out on the board, I was still feeling my way around on a big mountain. I did not feel comfortable riding on anything but blue terrain, so I limited where he could ski. I did not want to do that today.

It would not have mattered; we never left blue terrain today anyway, so my riding would not have affect him at all.

Riding would have been a blast, though. I’ve ridden in a small powder dump in the Midwest, and it was indescribably superior to dealing with the packed powder and ice that is the norm. I could have had an opportunity to do that in the Rockies. And instead I struggled through it, on skis.

That’s because skiing in powder isn’t that good if you don’t have the right gear. I was on my usual skis. These narrow-waisted sticks are best for groomed slopes. As a result of that, and my relative inexperience in powder, I had to “work” all day. It eventually became enjoyable in its own way. But I suspect that riding would have been a more pleasurable experience.

Finally, I understood, through experience, something I have often read about snowboarding: it’s on your knees. As I skied through the mix of powder and chopped-up snow, my skis were prone to travel at different speeds–and even different directions. That, in turn, could easily lead to twisted knees. Ouch! But with a board, that’s not going to happen.

Conclusion of the day: when powder dumps, take the board.

February 15, 2005

Here’s one of the great “secrets” of a ski area: sign up for a lesson package for beginners. The long-range success of any ski area depends on the entry of new participants into the sports of skiing and snowboarding. And starting out in the sport—and staying with it—is easier and more certain if you take lessons. So it’s in the interest of ski areas to offer reduced prices for beginner’s lessons. Fortunately for you, it’s in your interest as well.

The outing two days go on Buttermilk West convinced me that I had achieved some measure of success, even while learning on the ice-hard surfaces of the Midwest. But it also seemed appropriate to take a lesson in “real snow,” with “real instructors,” if for no other reason than to have someone critique my technique and point out habits that may cause me trouble later on.

But which lesson to sign up for? Private lessons are too expensive, and there were two kinds of group lessons. One is geared for skill levels 5 and up; another is for skill levels 1 through 4. I thought that I was either a 4 or 5 level.

I presented my dilemma at the ski school window, and was told by an employee that I should try the “Beginner’s Magic” program, for levels 1 through 4. They segregate people by ability, she told me anyway, and besides, I stood a good chance at getting a private lesson anyway.

I signed up for that lesson, and debated on whether to take a quick run up to the top before taking the class, or wait until what seemed to be the awfully late starting time of 10 A.M. I chose to wait, and go into the class with my full energy. That was a good move.

I headed over to the waiting area, and I talked with a man who was there to drop off his child. He was a crossover skier who took up alpine snowboarding, and now was getting into freestyle. Alpine riding (the form of snowboarding that is closest to skiing) made a lot of sense years ago, he said, but now he was learning about freestyle (parks and pipe) because that’s where his son was heading.

A while ago, a 10-year old certified my board as “cool.” And now, this veteran skier turned snowboarder said that he liked my board as well. “Very sharp,” he said. Well, I’m glad we have the important things such as looks out of the way.

I then turned to Kim, one of the instructors who was standing around waiting for the appropriate start time. I asked him to look at my board—remember, I had bought it at a flea market and knew little about it. Kim leaned on the board, and said that it had a good amount of flex. For my skill level and interests, that’s probably a good thing.

He asked me about the riding experience I had, and I told him about riding on Buttermilk West. “You may end up having a private lesson,” he said.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” I told him.

THE LESSON
I took only a half-day lesson. In a way that was a pity; I could have gained a lot from spending a complete day with a top-notch instructor. On the other hand, my wife was leaving around lunch, and I had promised her father that I would spend the afternoon with him. Besides, I’m not sure how well I would have done under the watchful eye of an instructor for an entire day.

Yes, I realize that it’s silly to feel self-conscious in a lesson. After all, the purpose of taking a lesson is to exposure your weakness in front of someone who knows everything about the activity, and who can then give you ideas for improvement. But still, I was a bit nervous as we started heading down West again.

Actually, I rode pretty well during the first run. But then as he put me through different drills–hold onto your back pants leg, for example–I had to do things I was not familiar with, and so I fell a few times. That in turn feeds the self-consciousness: “I KNOW that I’m better than this.”

But that’s just something you have to overcome in a lesson. Accept that sometimes you have to get worse before you get better. Believe that a small amount of awkwardness now is worthwhile if it leads to better technique down the road. You may be able to “fake it” now, but your riding potential can be limited if you get down the mountain now using a technique that won’t work in, say, steeper terrain or more difficult snow conditions.

At the end of the time, we went into the restaurant for lunch. We reviewed the points my instructor had brought up during the lesson. I asked him what skill level he thought I was at. He said it was easily a 5. “You were misdiagnosed” at the ski school, he told me.

But with a one-on-one outing, it worked out just as well for me and, I suspect, him as well.

February 14, 2005

Today we went to Snowmass, the big daddy of Aspen-area mountains.

In the morning, we went to the Big Burn, a wide-open, high-altitude location. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, it’s a great location, with spectacular views. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a great day, for several reasons.

The “burn” in “big burn” may be a noun, to describe the forest fire that years ago took out many of the trees that were there. But today, “burn” was the condition of my feet, which were in pain the entire run down to the lift. Ski. Stop. Ski. Stop. Ski. Stop. Agonize.

Compounding the problem was poor light, which made navigating a relatively unfamiliar terrain a lot of work. Throw in a lot of people flying around me, and you have not a great way to start the day.

Once at the end of the run, I waited at a restaurant for my wife and her father to take another lap. It seemed like a 45 minute lap, a much-longer rest than I had hoped for.

Once they returned, we took a long traverse (Trestle) down to the Alpine Springs lift. But there was a small surprise at the end of the traverse: a mogul field.

It was not a mogul field in the traditional sense. I don’t think it was designed to be one. It was simply the result of the casual approach to grooming that seems to characterize Snowmass, combined with a lot of new snow and plenty of traffic.

Still smarting from foot pain, the last thing I wanted on the snow was to deal with moguls. I don’t ski them, for one thing. My few attempts to do so have not been spectacular. But here I was, apparently with no other way down.

Not knowing any better, I tried to traverse the field rather than taking a straight-down approach. I got more speed up than anticipated, and when I went at what seemed to be a high speed over the top of one bump, I let loose a vulgarity that I thought must have filled the valley. But somehow, I stayed on my feet, and eventually worked my way out to smoother terrain.

We took lunch at the High Alpine restaurant. Given its location and where we wanted to go next (Elk Camp), it was a reasonable decision. Still, I was bothered by the fact that, when we had finished eating, it was 12:45, and I had taken only two runs, neither of them successful or enjoyable.

But the rest of the afternoon—until 3:50—was a different story entirely. We spent the time at Elk Camp, an intermediate (blue) area that is my favorite location at Snowmass. It’s got compound slopes, enough trees to make things look nice but not so many that they get in the way, and pitches steep enough to make things interesting but not so much that getting down them is a lot of work.

We started out on a trail (Bear Bottom) that was allegedly groomed. There’s no way it could have been, with all that pushed-around snow and mini-piles. Other trails in the area, such as Bull Run, approached mogul run status, at least for me. I’m not saying that I now enjoy bumps, but I got some experience learning how to use them. It seemed like I spent a lot of time “jumping” off the top of them. I appreciate the experience enough that I may take a bumps lesson next year.

Another thing I enjoy about skiing (or riding) is to explore new territory. We traveled in the Creekside region, which is an interesting mix of semi-steeps followed by a much longer section of a very gentle slope.

Throughout the day the sun teased us. Occasionally it almost appeared from beyond the clouds. But most of the time we dealt with difficult light, and when we finally had excellent visibility, we were nearly finished for the day.

Visibility, it turns out, played a role in my foot pain. At least that’s my theory. Unable to see very far ahead, I used a lot of short turns, especially in the morning. In the afternoon, I loosened my buckles, and the pain was almost always gone. What may have been equally important, though, is that I got more comfortable reading the terrain. So I was more willing to let my skis run out to the bottom of a small pitch, which meant less turning, and less pain.

Unlike the boors on the chair lift, a more pleasant reaction came from my sister-in-law. She had shown some interest before, and back home, I had explained to her a bit about stances, the challenge of getting up from a sitting position, and some turning techniques. And in fact one reason I had wanted to ride today was so that I could show off my new skills to her. She’s run marathons and such, so I have always admired her dedication to fitness.

I had also thought that perhaps she might be interested in trying it out. And I may have succeeded. Her reaction to watching me ride today was a backhanded compliment: “No offense, but if John can do that and make it look easy and graceful, maybe I should try it after all.” Trust me, there’s no offense taken.