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Wednesday
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| On the way to The Summit at Snoqualmie Andrew, ever reckless, played tag with another vintage Beemer after a friendly wave, the equivalent of a secret handshake among Bavarian Motorwerks aficianodoes, surprising even himself by cranking his '72 2002 up to 115 before having to abruptly brake upon reaching Snoqualmie pass where double trailer gondola trucks kicked up thin brown snow and slush and an illuminated trafficwatch sign announced that there was snow and slush on road for the benefit of those who might have wondered what the stuff caking their windshields was. Still, traction tires were only "advised," as opposed to "required," and there was no mention of chains, which was good because Andrew purchased his just this morning and wasn't sure if they'd fit. The hardware guy warned that sometimes they come undone and sever the brake lines, leaving one slipping and sliding with no way to slow down. | |||
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It was my and Sarah's first time on boards but with Andrew's help by the end of the day we were getting off the chairlift without falling on our faces, which is trickier than it sounds because only one foot is clicked in on the way up. Everyone was saying what an ideal day it was for learning with plenty of soft snow and virgin powder on the green bunny run where Sarah and I practiced edging and turning. We were lacing up our shoes after returning our rentals when Andrew realized he'd lost his keys. |
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| I looked at his snowpants: "You have zippered pockets." "That doesn't mean I zipped them," he said, a little irritated that a perfect day was ending this way. At the lost and found office they suggested coming back after the spring thaw, which would be a while yet given the ten plus feet of snowpack. But as luck would have it, walking out and bemoaning his fate, Andrew got to talking to Josh, the resort's sole accountant, who gave us a lift back to Seattle in his Mitsubishi Montero, a high-riding 4WD with an illuminated level built into the dash to keep you from tipping. We put him up to beer and nachos at ye olde Buckaroo and then went home to tend our wounds--a whiplashed neck for me and Sarah's sore knees. | |||
