Tahoe Eats Ski Pants
Posted by Moose on January 18th, 2008. Filed under: Misadventures, Travel.Backing out of the snow-encrusted driveway last weekend, there was a soul-sickening crunch. Which, by definition, is a much better crunch than the one your legs might make when connecting with the dashboard. Not to imply that I like my legs better than I like my soul, but my soul is a lot less breakable than my legs. Walking on your still intact legs to tell someone at the ski lease that you just put a nice white dent in her nice red truck is probably as easy as you can get off in the car accident department.
After the automotive mea culpa, we went to dinner. And, lo, it was a delicious dinner. If you’re ever in South Lake Tahoe, eat at Freshies. They have fried potato balls and housemade pasta full of wee lake shrimpies and garlic cloves. I think I consumed an entire bulb of garlic that night. And the waitresses were super nice. Especially when we realized that the wallet had been left at home and one of us was going to have to make a half-hour round trip to pick it up while the other one sat at the table and felt awkward. I chose awkward table sitting. Because you know what comes with awkward table sitting at a restaurant? DESSERT.
Vague mishap number three is the inexplicable one. I lost my snow pants. They’re just…gone. They were pulled out with all the other snow stuff and placed on the bed while packing. But they didn’t make it up to Tahoe. So I skiied in my jeans, my very WET jeans, and went home, expecting to find the snow pants still sitting on the bed. Guess what? No snow pants. As of now, the only explanation is they evaporated into the ether. I’ve had socks evaporate into this elusive and well-dressed ether, but snow pants? Aren’t they a little big? And bulky? To just DISAPPEAR?
Speaking of those wet jeans: Cross country skiing is generally less full of frantic arm waving than downhill skiing, the arm waving that happens when your brain decides that if you just wave your arms fast enough, the large pine tree in front of you will kindly get up and move three feet to the left, leaving your path clear. Every year, there’s a fair bit of falling the first time I go downhill skiing. I plow face-first into a few snowbanks while six-year-olds whiz expertly past me, and then I find my equilibrium and do some fun swish-swishing down the mountain. Cross country skiing, on the other hand, always felt fairly safe. You move horizontally, not vertically, and you never get going fast enough to be in real danger of falling into a tree hole and not emerging until spring, when you’re cold, hungry, and have hair full of nesting squirrels.
I still haven’t gotten to the wet jeans yet, have I? Let’s just say, I may have been a bit immodestly blase while strapping on my cross country skis. Wearing jeans to ski is asking to fall – a lot. I’d turn to answer a question – and fall over. I’d pause to enjoy some scenery – and fall over. I’d take a deep breath – and fall over. There’s something vaguely shameful about falling over when you’re just standing there quietly, minding your own business, and WHOOMP! You’re staring up at the sky and wondering if knees are really capable of bending as far back as yours currently seem to be.
But I sustained no real injury to anything that can’t be cured with a careful application of hot fudge sauce. And we had a lovely time, scooting around a quiet lake, climbing what felt like Mount Kilimanjaro but was really just a little hill to see the view. Besides learning “don’t ski in jeans because the mountain will see fit to punish you for your attire, kind of like the maitre’ d at the stuffy restaurant who forces you into a dinner jacket with gold epaulettes,” I also learned, when I kindly proffered a small tube, that “real men don’t wear sunscreen-y lip stuff.” Real men apparently like to let their lips chap until they peel off in long sheets. But I don’t know if I agree with this hypothesis. I bet George Clooney wears sunscreen-y lip stuff.
I bet George Clooney also pounds out car dents with his meaty fists before licking the scraped paint, leaving the car as pristine as the day it left the lot.
January 18th, 2008 at 10:38 pm
Potato Balls and pasta? Sign me up for some of THOSE carbs.
January 19th, 2008 at 1:13 am
Smart girl. You know how to position yourself well for dessert. Mmmmmm…
January 19th, 2008 at 9:16 am
You gave me some stellar visuals with this post!
And made me reconsider if I ever want to try cross country skiing.
I have been told that it is SO MUCH SAFER than downhill. This would bode well for someone who gave herself a black eye last year by falling UP the stairs. Yes, UP.
So maybe I’ll just stay off of the ski hill altogether
January 19th, 2008 at 11:32 am
Oh dear, evaporating pants? Too bad the white car didn’t evaporate right before you hit it! I’m not big on cross country skiing (more downhill myself), but I hope you enjoyed dessert!
January 19th, 2008 at 5:58 pm
Vague mishaps are what make a trip away so memorable. That, and the documentation of good writing!
Good-restaurant-dessert is always worth suffering through a little awkwardness. Always.
January 19th, 2008 at 7:03 pm
I realize snowboarding just sort of obviously comes with more falling than skiing but you described me to a tee up there, as well. Standing–fall. Talking–fall. PRAYING THAT MY KNEES WOULD EVENTUALLY RETURN TO THE COLOR OF THE REST OF MY BODY–fall hard.
Freshies, I’ll remember that.
January 19th, 2008 at 8:24 pm
Yes, we live in the land of evaporating socks. But snowpants is an achievement. I bow to that.
I fall over with the x-c too — almost never when I’m moving. That’s too easy. It takes real skill to lose your balance while standing still.
Wanna’ try something really fun…put Meeka dog on a leash and hold that while skiing. Then show her a squirrel. It really helps improve the falling over while moving thing. Works like a charm with our dog every time.
January 20th, 2008 at 9:48 pm
I’m of the opinion that ANY injury, real or otherwise, can be fixed with hot fudge sauce. It really just depends on the amount of hot fudge sauce you apply.
Can’t comment on the skiing in jeans because I have never been skiing, snow pants or jeans or yellow bikini irrelevant. One day I should probably do something about it…
Then again, warm lodges containing desserts with hot fudge sauce were just always able to call me more.
January 21st, 2008 at 9:04 am
I’ve enjoyed Orchid’s for thai in So Lake T, but it’s usually after hiking in the mountains all day, so who knows. Maybe I’ll try Freshies next trip.
January 21st, 2008 at 10:40 am
The pants remain in limbo. Wherever they are, whatever far flung dimension they’ve found, they’re taunting me.
Ed. Note: Don’t complain about falling on skis. Ever. Because you know what happens the next time you ski? Murphy’s Law subverts gravity and you fall MORE. Last weekend, we skied groomed trails. This weekend, we just went up into the hills to ski on whatever terrain we found. I ended up bouncing down the hill on my butt, dragging my (ungloved) hands behind me to slow myself down. By the time we made it back to the car, my hands were bloody. I’ve never been fond of sports where you come home bloody.
All Adither: The carbs? WERE EPIC. And you NEED that many carbs when skiing. Ahem.
Angella: See above addendum. Oh my god. It was treacherous. And I was with accomplished cross country skiers, who made it down the hill in three minutes and spent the next twenty minutes (the time it took me to stumble, fall, curse the heavens, and roll down the hill) chatting amongst themselves. That said, cross country skiing can be quite pleasant – if you’re wearing proper waterproof clothes and are on groomed trails.
Mommytime: Meeka on a leash? With a squirrel? EXCELLENT. I will try that next time. And get someone to record the ensuing mayhem.
Shakir: We went to Orchid’s on Friday – it was delicious! We had the Orchid soup and it hit the spot. Freshies and Orchids are definitely my favorites in ST.
January 21st, 2008 at 4:38 pm
So glad to be of service. And, yes, photos really are a vital part of this experiment.
January 22nd, 2008 at 1:26 pm
Good to know. I’m heading up to Tahoe next month, so duly noted – I’ll keep a tight grip on my ski apparel.
Coincidentally, I was skiing in Vermont last weekend, where it appears Killington much prefers paddle brushes to pants.
January 22nd, 2008 at 8:01 pm
Your posts always moke me hungry somehow, which is good because I have molasses cookies in the house. Had. Ummm carbs. Everytime someone mentions skiing it reduces my inclination to ski that much more. Mainly because three things are always mentioned 1. being cold 2. falling down and 3. being cold. I wouldn’t mind being in a cabin in the mountains, though. It would be pretty without the cold and the bruises. I believe in George Clooney’s manliness, but I draw the line at paint licking, unless he is also somehow immune to lead poisoning. Which I would believe, but have not heard.