1.7.09 :: The Surreal World of Skiing

We’re ripping down Upper Speakeasy, hair on fire and feeling pretty cool...man are we flying. Then I hear them, the Air National Guard Eagles from Barnes and the Falcons from Burlington, somewhere up there over us in the cold gray sky. Air-to-air training is underway, and instantly I imagine I’m up there with them--after all, my ride is quick, my turns are sharp and the turbulence beneath my feet tosses me around unexpectedly, just like theirs does.

Smoking down the mountain, I see the bad guy tracking my wingman. I push it up and pull in behind the lead Falcon, who is closing in on my pal in the Eagle. “Hang on Jake, I’ve got your 6!” As we approach the junction with Lower Speakeasy, Jake breaks left and hits the blower...I get a good lock on the bad guy and put an end to the chase. “FOX 2 on the east-bound Falcon,” and with that the game is over. Jake and I rejoin, push our noses over, pull it back to idle and blast down Lower Speakeasy, wing tip to wing tip, smiles on our faces, knowing we’re about as bad as they get.

Before we know it, we’re approaching the base area junction with Lower Rumrunner, and reality sets in...we’re back on planet Earth, not high above it, and we’re just two guys enjoying the snow. For a few minutes we could only imagine. Oh well, back on the lift and get ready for another run from the summit. But if we hear those jets, we’ll roll in again, you can count on it.