Snowburning

Yesterday was my day off, and after I pried myself out of bed, I once again faced the quandry of whether to go to the mountain one last time or stay in town and get on the bicycle. It was still fairly early, so I went across the street to get the paper and I asked the girl at the counter what she thought I should do. She said go biking. Enough with the snow already. That sounded good to me, but I couldn't shake the idea that snowboarding in eighty degree weather would be spectacular, and this was my last chance to experience it. As I was crossing back to my side of the street, I ran into a coworker who was biking to work. I asked her what I should do. She said go snowboarding, it's your last chance, and its gonna be eighty degrees.

With the advice from two different women bouncing back and forth like a pingpong ball in my brain, I went back to my place, poured a cup of coffee, settled onto my porch, and read the paper. It was the first time this year that the porch was warm enough to do this, and it made me want to stay there all day, but I knew better than to waste such a beautiful spring day sitting on my butt.

So what was it going to be? Well, after considering my options, I decided that the dry road would be there tomorrow but that the snowcovered mountain wouldn't be, and that I'd probably whine all sumer long about not heading up there that one day in late spring, so I grabbed my board and got in the car.

It turned out to be a good choice. Between runs on corn snow, or hero snow if you will, I basked in the glorious sunshine while reclining on the chairlift. The weather could not have been more pleasant and the short-sleeved, western style shirt I was wearing could not have been more stylish. Or so I thought...

One thing I've noticed about spring skiing is that some people are prone to wearing silly things. Cowboy hats, jean shorts, Raybans, things like that. Girls will occassionally wear bikinis, which is great of course, but...well, that's just great. But nothing is as silly as wearing a bra when you are a guy, as one silly guy was doing. I mean, why would he do such a silly thing? He didn't even have man boobs.

I first noticed him while I was riding up the hill. He was ripping through the bumps like Johnny Mosely, or should I say Donna Weinbrecht, and although he was wearing a bra, I noticed a lack of jiggling going on beneath it. Nothing unusual, I thought, flat-chested women wear bras, but there was something else that didn't settle with me: large sideburns.

Later, while enjoying a delicious IPA on the patio outside the baselodge, he showed up, still sporting his bra. I wanted to ask him if perhaps it had fallen from the lingerie tree, and he had picked it up and put it on, but there was already someone else inquiring, so I left him alone.

Maybe he was planning on adding it to the lingerie tree's branches on the next run.