Shred the Gnar

All of a sudden people have decided to go skiing, which in turn means I've been exponentially (or perhaps linearly) more busy with work. I'm currently operating with one day off a week, although next week I've swung having two in a row. Unfortunately Monday is President's Day so that's out for skiing. Tuesday will have to be epic.

As far as skiing goes, although my skiing-all-star friends don't believe me, I've gotten far better at it. You can pretty much put me anywhere on the mountain (again, except the Cirque) and I'll be fine. It might take me a few minutes but I'll make it. A good example of this is Trestle.

Trestle is a pretty gnarly, long, mogul-studded black diamond on the Jane side of the mountain (best bumps in North America!). After a foray through some trees the other day I was unexpectedly shot out at the top of Trestle and Roundhouse, a blue groomer. Boo, hiss. Being by myself with no one to judge or laugh, I decided Trestle it was.

And it was awesome. February has been a bit improved over the last few months as far as snow, so the few inches of fresh powder felt awesome under ski. When I reached the bottom after several teasing flat spots I was high as a kite. It was by far my best run of the season up until then, and a major confidence booster. Take that, naysayers!

A few days later, I brought boy with me. Taking the same indeterminate route through the trees we ended up at the Roundhouse/Trestle split. My disclaimer: "I know I talked a big game about Trestle but it's still really hard. I'll probably fall a lot. But we're doing it anyway."

And of course I didn't fall a lot. Two hours later he turns to me and says, "It was about halfway down Trestle that I realized that's what 'shredding the gnar' really means."

Yeah, we shred that gnar. Shred some serious gnar.