With some dear friends moving back to Pittsburgh this week, the decision was made to send them off with one last wonderful winter getaway. So, a weekend in Tahoe was booked, beer bought, and ski gear prepared.
OK, the ski gear I prepped did not actually go toward the effort of skiing. Though I was pretty positive this would be my fateful return to the sport — the first since I’d blown them all away with my stellar style on the bunny slopes as a kid (OK, I may be exaggerating a bit) — unfortunately, I backed out at the last minute for a much milder afternoon of snowshoeing. I suppose that broken rib will have to wait till next time.
I’d never snowshoed before, and must admit, I didn’t think it existed outside of L.L. Bean’s catalogs. Despite my lack of knowledge about the activity, it proved right up my alley. After getting acquainted to the sport (can it be called a sport?) with a flat hike on the cross-country trails, I — very out of character, I might add — decided to try my hand at a climb. Though it proved difficult (those who witnessed me fall might call it hilarious), the views made every awkward step worth it.
I know my constant complaints about missing the New England seasons are beginning to fall on deaf ears, and keeping in line with my resolution to ‘think positive’, I realized over the weekend just how lucky I am to have such a beautiful place so close. It’s not just Tahoe, either — something that makes the West stand apart from the East is the number of ways you can escape city life. Besides, I do not miss my brakes going out on ice (totally happened), sliding down the side of a mountain (fun until the snow finds its way under your jacket), or my fingers going numb from lost gloves (RIP, shark mitten). So, I’m going to try to be somewhat tolerable for the rest of the winter in my seasonal complaints — at least until spring rolls around.