A couple of years ago, V took my two sisters and I up to the snow. His parents have a caravan where we could stay that was only 30 to 40 minutes from Falls Gap and Mount Hotham. My sisters and never been to the snow before so we were all suitably excited. Now, on a normal day, neither of my sisters (who will now be known as L and N) nor I have a particular skill of not running into or tripping over things. Growing up was like one of those stupid slapstick movies without the bad music and the laugh track.
In hindsight, deciding to add immense amounts of frozen water to our situation probably wasn’t the best idea.
But at the time we thought it would be freaking awesome.
So, when you are headed to the snow, what’s the first thing you pack? ALCOHOL, because when you are headed to a slippery walking surface, the best way to counteract this is to use substances that will wreck your balance.
On the way up, L, N and I decided the past way to pass time on the four hour road trip would be to play a My Big Fat Greek Wedding drinking game (you take a drink whenever they mention food or eating. The bottle will never leave your mouth).
Drinking in a tiny Celica is not the greatest idea, and we ended up making about twenty pit stops, adding two hours to the total commute time. Of course, V had to park at the furthest possible point from the actual toilets, making us run across the truck stop.
When we finally got there, all was good, we tried to cook sausages in the dark, burning my hand. I apparently spent the rest of the night touching frozen things saying “Wow, my hand is still warm!” Then N decided to exhibit her excellent distance and obstacle judgement skills by running into a glass sliding door. Rather than actually trying to open the door, she then made a second attempt of walking forward. Finally we gave up and went to sleep.
The next day, we packed the car and headed up the mountain. It was fairly uneventful, until we were almost at the top of the mountain, in various states of awe over the snow. Then all of as sudden, we hit a patch of ice. As we skidded towards the high wall side of the mountain, L, N and I frantically grabbed at each other in the hope that holding hands would bring forth our powers as the Charmed Ones and would stop us from dying, while V spun the wheel in the other direction. The wheel clamped over to the other side and we began coasting over the edge. As I breathed heavily on the window, I watched the white coated trees come closer to my vision. Just as I had made peace with the things in my life that I had not yet achieved (Gone to Rome, successfully stalked Dave Grohl), we snapped back and continued driving. As we hyperventilated and tried to shake the spots from our eyes, V started singing along with the CD Player and calmly stated “You know, I really like this song.”
L, N and I looked at him incredulously while he looked back at us like a dinosaur puppy that just ripped off your roof and when you start yelling at him, can’t understand why:
(Yes, I AM comparing Sarah Palin to a dinosaur that randomly vandalises people’s homes without provocation and is then confused by any backlash it may cause. What’s your point?)
After retrieving our hearts and placing them back in our chests, we went off to explore the snow. V went off snowboarding and L, N and I decided with our EXTREME SNOW WALKING SKILLS, we would go sledding.
After going from one hire store to another, each one turning us down (actually, they had run out, but we felt like they were against us personally)
As we trudged out of the last hire shop, a shining beacon of hope glinted in the late morning sun:
A Sled! Right there waiting for us!!!
After a quick conference and a deciding game of rock paper scissors, N was deemed the retriever. After sneaking off with our prize, we spent a glorious afternoon sledding and causing future severe lower back pain.
We struggled back down the hill while V went and got the car, when all of a sudden a woman walked past, back tracked, and cried in surprised anguish “HEY! MY SLED!!!!”
They told us they thought it had been stolen, while we told her that we were on the toboggan hill and some family had given it to us to use, before sheepishly handing it over.
All the way back to our caravan we commiserated the unfairness of the loss of OUR beloved sled
We drank in honour of the sled, which had since been named Roberto (Bob for short), and then spent an hour trying to convince N that she was sitting too close to the heater (“But guys, I am not even near it! I can't feel the heat!"), before going to bed.
The next day we returned home. Just as we left, N said "You know, my back really hurts” and lifted her shirt to see a nice BBQ grill pattern on the small of her back.