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Outside Magazine December 2003
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Ski Naked (cont.)

FORTUNATELY, ALL IS NOT LOST. By noon, the sun has peeked out for the first time all weekend, and though the atmosphere of looming repercussions persists, everybody starts having fun again. The parents seem to have welcomed their prodigal sons and daughters back into the fold. The skiers—even the hungover ones—don their sticks for some bright, spring-style downhilling. Chuck, always a gamer, hits the slopes again and gets another drubbing.

In the evening, the parents agree to drive the kids partway up the mountain, then pick them up at the bottom, so they can sled for a full mile on the Four O'Clock run. Using cheap plastic sleds from the condos, they slide downhill in darkness, traveling way too fast, barely missing trees and occasionally crashing into one another. One by one, they glide to a stop at a street corner in town, then they climb in the SUV for another trip up.

The car, its windows clouded with condensation from heavy, excited breath, is filled with giddiness and braggadocio as the kids take turns describing how "sick" their last run was, how they got going faster than anybody in the history of sledding. In less than 24 hours they'll be back in Hastings, doing homework, going to school, and surfing the Internet. But at the moment, all that matters is gaining a little more speed on the next run and feeling the cold, pinpricking wind against numb cheeks. That, and being together in the Rocky Mountains, laughing their heads off one more time before they have to go.

Julie, usually Miss Sarcasm, can't stop smiling. After her last run, she comes to a stop in front of the van, stands, and proclaims the good news. "This," she says, holding her arms as if to embrace the whole snowy valley, "was definitely better than an orgasm!"
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