23 February 1984
There wasn’t any snowfall where I grew up, except perhaps in the high reaches of distant mountains. There were no ski resorts nearby; therefore no opportunities to learn how to ski.
Shortly after we moved to Utah, one of the local TV stations in SLC ran a contest, offering a day of ski lessons at Snowbird. Viewers were asked to send in a postcard with a few words explaining why they wanted to learn to ski. I’m not one to enter such contests, but with Mui’s encouragement, I sent in an entry. Surprise, surprise — I won! My entry wasn’t a particularly brilliant essay. I just wrote something along the lines of, “I’ve never had a chance to learn to ski before.” I can only guess that they must have been short on entrants!
Long story short, I went up to Snowbird with a van-full of contest winners and spent the day on the slopes. During the morning lesson, I spent more time trying to stay upright on my skis than I did actually skiing. It was a different story in the afternoon — I was whizzing down the slopes over and over, not taking a single tumble. The hot chili served during our lunch break must have been spiked with some magic skiing dust or something.
A few weeks later, Mui and I went to Park City, took a lesson together, and conquered the bunny slopes there.
A 52-mile (83-km) drive puts us on the slopes of Park City.
The mountains in Park City are crisscrossed with ski runs.
I never became an aficionado of skiing, but did accompany Mui on day-trips to nearby ski resorts. A good book; a cup of hot cocoa; a lounge chair in the sun; and beautiful scenery … that became my idea of a good day on the slopes.
