Suicide on the slopes

Last season, I used my season pass at Copper only twice. I was taken down by a boarder. It could have been a skier, I know that. But it wasn’t. And all the other times I have felt lucky to escape with my life, it has been a boarder.

My boarder didn’t stop, which made me wonder how many encounters on the slopes go unreported. How does one identify a fleeing back?

My enforced vacation away from skiing last season with a torn tendon did have some benefit, however, as it gave me time to think about these matters.

I have to admit that my mental image of boarders is that they are schuss warriors, usually younger, who want to be in the X games.

They are the ones who ski jump over bumps and scream things such as “Cool” and “Sweet” as they thump down. On the highway, they speed up to the slopes as if the snow will melt before they get there. They tend to believe in their own immortality.

I, by contrast, am long-in-tooth. Lift attendants take one look at me and slow the chair. I can ski the blue slopes, but I try to look graceful in order to hide the fact that I ski slowly (I prefer to say “in control”). I associate adrenaline with terror and I don’t like it.

Inevitably there is a culture clash between the boarders and me. Yet I am wise enough to recognize that we must share the slopes both graciously and safely. We all want the same things, to enjoy Colorado’s blue skies and sunshine and the powder snow beneath us.

Given that, I realize the importance of détente. Consequently, exercising the privilege of relative age, I have drawn up a contract for boarders who wish to avoid the nuisance of knocking me down.

Please, boarders, do not target the five feet between me and my skiing partner as the passageway to your nirvana.

If you decide to pass me, please do not make a sharp turn that sprays me with snow and then make a contemptuous sway as you move on.

Please do not run (or slide) up to the lift chair when we’re already at the loading line. That time you got on between us when we didn’t know you were there until we sat down was certainly spine tingling, but not as much as when your board caught my ski getting off and I landed on my back.

Please notice that I steadily weave down the slope. I am not going to suddenly start heading down toward the bottom in a straight line like you tend to do. If you come very close, like your board is in contact with my skis, you are going to scare at least the heck out of me.

If you do a 360 over a bump, yelling “Geronimo” is not sufficient warning. Please let me pass unscathed before you jump.

Finally, please do not sit down in lodge later with a beer and talk about stupid skiers. I may feel tempted to bean with you with my ski pole.

In return, I promise you the following.

I will work on my understanding that many boarders are now in middle age and that boarding is here to stay.

I will stop complaining about the ironed out stretches of snow where you came screeching to a stop.

I will not ski close to your terrain park jumps, as much for your safety as my own.

If you are lined up like birds on a telephone wire thinking about taking off down the hill, I will either wait for you to go or I will stay well off to the side by the trees and try not to weave into your path.

Above all, I will understand that we share the mountain and that for all our sakes as well as that of the ski industry that makes it possible, we want to end the day by counting the number of runs rather than doing a body count.