Chapter 5 Presley
Powder for Two
As hard as I tried not to think of him, with every turn of my skis and as every flake of snow touched the tip of my nose, I thought of Ford.
Keep your dignity, Presley. Do not fall for the brooding cowboy!
My self-talk did not sway my thoughts, however, and unlike yesterday, I was happy to see the hours fly by.
Come two in the afternoon, I decided to stop for a cup of hot cocoa.
The chairlift brought me to a scenic diner at the top of the mountain called Ellie’s.
It was a cozy diner that smelled like cinnamon and espresso.
They served every flavor of coffee and hot chocolate under the sun, and had a line out the door.
Thankfully, there were menus hanging from about every angle so while I stood in line, I could mull over my options.
Did I want a salted caramel hot chocolate or a white raspberry?
As the line inched closer, I saw they also had baked goods galore.
Checking my fitness tracker, I’d burned countless calories today shredding up the slopes, so I decided I had earned an extra little something. Finally, it was my turn to order.
“May I have a salted caramel hot chocolate and an eggnog muffin?” Just ordering it aloud made my mouth water.
“Coming right up,” the barista smiled. She had long, blonde hair in braids and a beanie that read, “Snow Bunny.” A man came out from the kitchen and added a few more baked goods to the cooler.
He was strikingly handsome, and I lost my train of thought when she gave me the total, signaling me to pay.
“Miss? I said it’s $10.39.” She smiled graciously, acting as if it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to make a woman's mind stop working. I quickly swiped my card and added a generous tip, pretending not to notice when he walked away. As she made my drink, I leaned over and asked her a question.
“What is it with the men here in Wyoming? Why are they all so. . . handsome? Do you bake them from scratch up here?” She giggled at my question.
“Don’t I know it. It’s their cowboy genes.
Like, genetics I mean. Of course, it doesn’t hurt how they look in a pair of Levi’s, either.
” She motioned to the man standing in the kitchen, who could now be seen through the window on the door.
“I would love to take him to church on Sunday. But he’s a real quiet type.
Can’t tell if I’m driving him nuts, or he’s going to one day decide that I’m the one for him.
” I nodded, knowing all too well how she felt.
As she handed me my drink and a little paper bag containing my muffin, I walked over to a table and sat down to eat it.
My ski boots were firmly planted in the ground.
Normally, I liked to eat with one leg under the other, but this was forcing me to sit properly, and it was difficult to get comfortable, but I didn’t have a hard time savoring the muffin. It was absolutely delicious.
A little flyer on the table caught my eye as I was savoring the flavors. “Baked goods are made in Maple Haven, Wyoming from The Pumpkin Perk Cafe. Shipped frozen and baked fresh in our lodge.” Maple Haven. . . Now, that sounds like a cute place.
Well, that was the longest I’d gone without thinking of Ford that day. Turned out, all I needed was a constant stream of baked goods and sugar to keep my mind preoccupied. Getting up from the table, I took care of the garbage and headed back to the slopes.
Warm and energetic from the sugar rush, I decided to go on a more challenging run.
Usually, I stuck to the intermediate groomers—the runs that the plows flatten out and don’t have any hidden moguls that might have killed my knees.
I’d been doing those the last two days, though, and I was ready for something that kept up with this new, false sense of energy I had.
And maybe it would keep my mind off of a certain someone.
I took a chairlift for a run called “Dill Pickle” that said it was a Black Diamond. Usually, those are for experts only, but according to the map, this one split off into three different blue runs, so I had adequate chances to abort the mission if need be.
On the ride up, I was sitting next to a couple who were gently arguing.
“I don’t feel safe going down this slope, Jerry.
Why don’t I just ride the chairlift back down and meet you in the middle?
” she said, to which he replied, “You can’t ride the chairlift back down, dear.
Only gondolas can be ridden both ways at Sage Mountain.
” Then, she started to panic, as this one led to only Black Diamonds.
I knew the feeling, having been very scared the first few expert runs I did years ago.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said quietly, “but this run doesn’t look that bad. If you’d like, I can go first and scope out the easiest route for you to take.” She nodded.
“I would love that, thank you, because Jerry here is too good of a skier to remember what an easy route looks like,” she giggled, and I could feel the energy between them change.
“Great. Don’t worry; even on the hardest mountains, there’s always an easier way down.
” I didn’t know where the words came from but for today, it felt like God.
As we rode the rest of the way in silence, I thought of the hard mountain I had been on this last year.
That I had put myself on. I was self-isolating with workloads that were not sustainable.
I had made huge life changes to stop seeking out dates and while that brought me peace, it also made me feel incredibly lonely.
And, I hadn’t taken any extra time for myself to reflect upon these things.
Yet, here I was on a vacation to work out these thoughts, and I found myself shacked up with my gorgeous cowboy neighbor.
God, You really do have a sense of humor.
After the chair dropped us off at the top, I saw the way down that was the easiest, but still a great challenge. I told her to follow my tracks, to which she did confidently. Her partner, Jerry, stayed by her side in solidarity.
This Black Diamond was known for its steepness.
I had to take a few breaks on the way down for how hard I was working to not fall forward, but the challenge to my muscles and skiing ability was welcomed.
I enjoyed every moment of it, even when it felt unbearably hard.
“Thank you, Lord, for skiing!” I shouted, as I tore through the powdery snow.
He had blessed this mountain with an amazing amount of fresh moisture—so much that it knocked out the power of my chalet. Again, I laughed at the circumstances.
As we all made it down to the first fork in the run, they had several options of easy diversions, including a long green cat track that circled around the whole mountain. It might have taken an extra hour to get down, but if you really needed to use it, you could have.
“Hey, thank you. It was nice skiing with you. You’re a really good skier,” the woman who held her hand out to shake mine said. “It’s Stella, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Stella. I’m Presley.” Jerry put his arm around his lady.
“Are you here visiting, or do you live here? I’m always looking for ladies to ski with. The local women's skiing group didn’t gather this year, and it’s really put a damper on my progress.”
“I wish I lived here! I’m just up from Denver for the week.”
“Oh, you're here for the Winter Games? This place should be a mad house right now, but the highway shut down. We totally lucked out with all of this fresh pow to ourselves!”
“I haven’t thought much about the Winter Games. Didn’t even realize that I came on the same week as that,” I grinned, not wanting to offend a local regarding my lack of knowledge for their largest event of the year.
“Yeah, Jerry here is a huge fan of Theo McCain. The ski jumper.” I nodded in recollection of the name.
“Isn’t he hosting the Games?” I think I heard that on the radio.
“Yep. And Jerry is taking his Wheaties poster for him to sign. What a dork!” Stella playfully punched him in the shoulder and giggled.
“Well, maybe I’ll see you around! Have a great rest of your stay here in Sage Mountain.
” We said our goodbyes, and I watched them ski away, opting for a blue groomer called Bigfoot.
My legs were tired and despite my afternoon sugary treat, my stomach was starting to growl.
The chairlifts and gondolas in the distance started showing less people—last chair was coming up quick.
Instead of fighting to get one more run, I opted to ski down all the way to the bottom of this one instead.
Skiing was usually a lot of time spent in prayer for me.
I prayed for my safety, my clarity, my choices, and for those around me.
I prayed in thanks for the fun experience.
I loved being outdoors, and it was times like these that I realized how prohibitive my career was of that.
The creative thoughts started flowing to me in the ways that I’d like to improve my life when I returned to Denver.
Maybe I’d find an open-air office that I could work out of?
No, that wouldn’t work. Half the year, it was too cold.
Maybe I’d take on less work? I liked the sound of that one.
As I contemplated what I could do to have more of God’s beautiful creation surrounding my everyday life when I returned home, my thoughts went back to Ford.
How would he and I end this arrangement?
Would we exchange phone numbers? Or would this just be one of those wild stories that I told ten years from now about the week I spent in the chalet next door?
I was reminded that the power could come back on at any minute. Wasn’t that a good thing, though? It would probably have been for the best. Before Ford got sick of me. Before he thought I was too talkative. Too inquisitive. Too much.