Up to stratton mountain with AJ (my boy up from Charleston for this ski trip) and Kyle. We do the night out bar thing (good times) , wake up a little hungover and drag ass to the mountain. It was negative 10 with the wind chill and the wind was a good 20 mph blowing all the loose snow at us while we hung in the air on the lift (which took a 40min wait on line for this privilege). We did one run and got a refund. Good times.
An Aside – This was my first ski trip this year because of cancellations of previous ski plans for various reasons. A few months ago , I pulled all my ski gear from my shed and loaded my car with it , in anticipation of my first trip. We get to the mountain which is PACKED despite the ridiculous weather. Its presidents day weekend and families abound. I pull into a corner cubby room to put on my ski sweater, boots and other ski paraphernalia. I pull my sweater out of my bag and see that the bottom of it is all chewed up , and has some wood shavings scattered on it. Damn , I got attacked by a mouse. I then grab my boots and open up the bindings and stretch out the flaps in anticipation of squeezing a foot into these god-forsaken tight boots. During this struggle an acorn drops to the floor , devoid of its tell-tale crown. Confused , I put the boot down on its side to pick up the acorn. A dozen more acorns fall out my boot and roll across the floor. Aghast , I dump the boot upside down and no less than 30 some-odd acorns , without their heads , bounce upon the floor like scattered marbles ….. Oh My God !! My boot was infested by a squirrel , I look inside to see if there is anything else and ….SHIT — I toss the boot onto the ground ….damn !! What looked like a dead petrified animal sticking up at me was simply a grey nest of yarn , most likely crafted from another clothing item from my bag. Freaked me out. I tentatively stick my hand and arm in boot to remove any other offending obstructions , fully expecting to feel a dead squishy , or a live bitey. Nothing. I squeeze my foot into the boot. Kyle and AJ , separately walk into this room , to be given the story. I point to the pile of acorns I pushed and piled in a corner of the room. Each time I described the story for my friends, a fellow ski-dresser exclaimed, ” I was wondering what the heck that was about.” These people come into the room , see this pile of acorns , and are wracking their brain , “Why the hell are a few dozen bald acorns neatly pushed into the corner of this changing room , Why ?”