Chapter 1 Presley #3
Standing below the map was an older ski host, armed with a solo ski pole as his pointer, so he could advise people on which runs to take. He was at least a decade older than me, if not more, and I wasn’t even done putting on my skis yet when he struck up a conversation.
“Good morning. What kind of adventure are you seeking today?” His blue eyes sparkled as he spoke. There was a softness to him, a dad-vibe that I found endearing.
“A mid-level adventure, at least to start. I’m afraid the number of years I’ve been off skis are rivaling the years I have,” I said as I clicked into my skis, putting my poles under my arm and taking in the map.
The options of ski runs were endless, with everything from family learning zones to triple blacks.
I decided to be a little more specific. “I’d like to stick to groomers, if possible.
I’m over the age of awareness; I’m not trying to ski moguls if I can help it. ” He let out a laugh, nodding.
“Of course. I’m well past my mogul years, too.
How about this route—” He pointed to a blue run that broke off into every which way.
“Start out on ‘Shadow Dancer,’ then turn right into ‘Gimmicks,’ keep right as the trails merge with ‘Potato Chip,’ and then it's imperative you take the cat track right here—that will be immediately to your left—called ‘Snickering Kitty,’ and you take that run for just a moment before it opens up to the best, blue groomer we have, all the way back here. Otherwise, you’ll be heading for a double black mogul field called ‘Blackbeard’s Revenge.’”
“Shadow. . . Potato Chip. . . Kitty?” I mumbled, my head scrambling to remember the route. “Seriously, who names these runs?”
“Have fun!” he exclaimed before moving down the map to help another group of skiers who were scratching their heads at the map.
“Shadow, Potato Chip, Kitty.” I said it three more times as I pulled my goggles over my helmet, tightening everything in the back.
The faintest clouds were in the sky as I looked over to the starting point, where the mountain sloped off just-so.
Taking a huge gulp of fresh, alpine air, I felt rejuvenated.
Free. Alive. “Thank you, Lord, for bringing me here. I pray for a fun time, safety, and only groomed runs.” Smiling, I took off on “Shadow Dancer,” slowly making a few wide turns before finding my ski legs and tightening my pattern in the freshly laid snow that sparkled in the sunlight.
By the time I got to my first crossroads, I had forgotten the words I’d been repeating.
I slowed, stopping in a fluid movement and spraying snow in the process.
“Hockey Puck, Gimmicks, or Ruffles?” I read the signs aloud; two of which were blue and the other, Ruffles, was snow covered, so I couldn’t see its rating.
One was left, one was straight, and the other was right.
I couldn’t for the life of me recall anything other than Potato Chip and Kitty.
“Oh, Potato Chip—maybe he was speaking in code,” I said, shaking my head as I headed straight down on Ruffles. What could go wrong?
At the end of the run, that I had to take in full blown “pizza” formation—my legs were so wide, it looked like I was playing a school yard game of London Bridge—my limbs felt like gelatin.
I was sore and tired as I dodged the moguls and did everything I could to keep control of my turns with a steep grade I wasn’t ready for.
I wasn’t certain, but I had a feeling that it was the wrong run.
I managed to find a moderate cat track that looped down quite a bit of the mountain before reaching a cluster of blue runs and successfully avoided mogul fields.
I ended up going back up the gondola three more times, as I couldn’t get enough of the amazing conditions.
My turns down the mountain powder felt like frosting in a wedding cake.
In the morning, its softness made it easier to warm up, and by mid-day, the snow had formed an upper crust from the cold that made my turns feel sharper with better execution.
If it wasn’t for my bladder, my stomach, and my muscles alerting me that it was enough for the day, I would have stayed out here until the last chair.
Getting back to the chalet, Priscilla was thrilled to see me.
It appeared her energy levels from being cooped up inside were finally recovering from her lazy day yesterday, and she was ready for some serious play time.
If we were home, I would have taken her out to our covered dog area at the condos, but since we were here, and there was a foot and a half of snow outside, I ended up throwing a toy for her to fetch for nearly fifteen minutes before she had her fill.
We ended the day with a nice dinner, consisting of a few things I picked up at the grocery store, including Sage Mountain’s highest quality macaroni pasta from a local pasta maker and a cup of tea, before my eyes slammed shut in the cozy king bed upstairs, where I had the most restful sleep of my life.
Waking early the next morning, Priscilla, too, seemed extra rested, having the zoomies as we traipsed downstairs to fill her food dish. She excitedly ate while I showered and dressed for another day on the slopes.
I decided to warm up for the day with a nice cup of hot chocolate.
After starting my mug of milk in the microwave, the power surged, going out.
“Oh no,” I said, with Priscilla even feeling that something wasn’t right about that.
When it came back on ten seconds later, I restarted the microwave.
“Hope that doesn’t happen again.” I was stirring the chocolate into my hot milk, already forgetting it when it happened a second time.
But unlike the first, the power didn’t immediately come back on.
I traipsed over to my purse, digging for my phone.
Service was extremely limited out here, and I’d had it turned off to not be distracted by it, but it appeared I’d forgotten to plug it in because it was completely dead.
“That's okay,”’ I told myself. “Don’t panic.
” I looked out the windows towards town.
Plenty of lights were on in the community; as the sun was just rising and I could see clearly, it wasn’t like an EMP or something.
Gah, I’d read one too many apocalypse novels to be dealing with this alone at the moment.
Don’t let the intrusive thoughts win, Presley.
But the lights from Sage Mountain were comforting, and I saw the chair lifts in the distance.
A reminder I was at a heavily populated resort that very likely had generators.
It was quite possible it was just my chalet that lost electricity.
However, I had no phone, no power, no Wi-Fi, and no way of getting help—unless, of course, I went out into the freezing temps and found it.
As I looked back outside, I saw the snow was falling once again.
After several minutes of wrestling with what to do, I decided I would wait it out.
I had a wood burning stove, after all. Ready-to-eat food in the fridge.
The only thing that absolutely required electricity was my charger.
All I needed was wood. Besides, Priscilla needed to go for a potty break anyway.
Someone had been by to shovel the walks and the driveway this morning around my car, or the walks were heated, which made more sense.
This place was fancy like that. It was safe, and everything was perfectly accessible.
So, we bundled up—her in her pink puffer jacket with little rhinestone accents and her snow boots that she absolutely despised—and me, in my white ski jacket.
I was wearing my ski clothes already except for shoes, so I threw on some snow boots.
Holding Priscilla’s leash, I let her extend it as far as she needed to go while I headed for the wood pile, letting the door shut behind me.
I grabbed as many logs as I could comfortably hold and waited for Priscilla to sniff every part of the earth.
When she was done, we walked back to the front door.
Entering the code, the buttons made no noise.
Hmm. I hit “Enter,” but nothing happened.
What—is this door somehow hard wired into the electricity?
I tried it three more times. A cold wind shifted in my direction—my knees started to tremble.
Dropping the wood, I picked up Priscilla who was also shivering.
“I’m sorry sweetie. It appears we’re locked out.
” Ugh. It must have been connected to Wi-Fi!
! How did I not consider that before going out there?
It was eerily reminiscent of how every episode of Dateline starts.
The narrator’s voice boomed in my head. “Presley Astor thought this was just like every other ski trip. . . She was wrong.” Now what?
I looked around at the row of chalets, as I considered my options.
Priscilla’s Inner Monologue
Splendid. We’ve been cast into the cold. Just try not to trip as you carry me through the snow, darling.