To ski or not to ski? That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to sit in front of the computer suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous emails and leaving call back messages? Or to take arms against the storm and strap on skis and boots and mount upward, the gondola bearing my powder starved limbs? To ski is perchance to dream, to ski powder in the late season is perhaps the dream that will carry us till Chile doth beckon. And thus I know in my heart what path I must take to get yet a glimpse of the sweet white flakes that blanket the land. I cannot bear the heartache of looking outward and knowing that I had the chance but did not take it. And thus, I will go willingly to what is my destiny, ride the black and red chariots upward, so I may descend the peaks becoming one with my inner Ophelia.
We were two girls, 9 pairs of shoes, fat skis, skinny skis, and we were bound for Telluride. We’d been
by Joan Valentine Our safety in Sochi was a much discussed event prior to departure. And getting through the layers
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