Yesterday, I went to ski Brighton, a small ski resort that is less than 7 miles from home, as the crow flies, but stands 43 miles away by car and takes almost one hour to get to. The weather was very cold and mostly sunny, with some new powder that had fallen the day before.
I first started by getting oriented on the mountain and then ran into Ben, a 40 year old nurse, on his day off, that took me through the trees like a bat out of hell and I really surprised myself following him as well as I did.
He took a few spills on his way down, got me into a hole where hit the powder, but in the end, we all survived. I just think that for his own sake and longevity, Ben should slow down a bit, but I'm grateful that he provided me with superb guidance and entertainment.
Sure, Brighton offers 1,740 feet of vertical, is fairly flat and quite small, but that latest experience raised the dismal opinion I still had of that small resort only 24 hours ago!
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