As Temps Hit 90, Remembering Those Older, Colder Days


photo by Peter Nguyen

Senior Peter Nugyen and friends hit the slopes.

Peter Nguyen, Contributing Columnist

The alarm rang, and the clock said 8 a.m. If it were a school day, I would’ve gone right back to sleep.

Instead, I jumped out of bed because today wasn’t like any other day. It was a Wednesday. That meant that I got to go up to Perfect North Slopes and snowboard.

This Wednesday was unlike any of the past Wednesdays because Perfect North was supposed to get three to five inches of snow while we were there. Motivated, I got ready faster than normal.

I hurried to pack my stuff and get out of the house to meet with my friends. As soon as I got there, I immediately packed all my gear into the designated car for our two-hour adventure to the Slopes.

During our journey, my friends and I bopped our heads along to the music and talked about random things.

I looked at the slopes like an artist would with a blank canvas. It was my playground as I carved down the mountain.”

A plethora of empty parking spots greeted us. Everyone agreed — “The pow looks amazing. Today is going to be a perfect pow day.”

As soon as I stepped out of the warm car, I was hit by the brisk winds and immediately started to shiver. We grabbed our gear and boards and waddled into the lodge, where we were once again comforted by warmth.

Then came the smells from the cafeteria, a scent comparable to walking into your grandparents’ house, that familiar and special smell.

After getting lift tickets, there was conversation about how many layers we would need. We agreed to pack for the cold considering snow was soon to come.

Upon leaving the lodge, the winds were no longer too brisk thanks to the many layers I had on. That first breath of cold air is unlike any other. This sensation always puts a smile on my face.

The walk out of the lodge to the mountain is a gateway into a white, ethereal wonderland where fun is seemingly endless.

The lift lines were short, unlike normal days. From the lift, I could barely see the outline of skiers carving down the mountain. The ride to the top is always so beautiful.

At the top, I strapped on my boots and heard the same ratcheting clinks as everyone did the same. Everyone put their goggles on and headphones in. Soon everyone was in their own world. It was now just me and the mountain.

I looked at the slopes like an artist would with a blank canvas. It was my playground as I carved down the mountain.

The start is always slow, but naturally, the board becomes an extension of me like an artist’s brush. I was one with the mountain, carving a singular path behind me that would soon be hidden beneath the paths of others.

Before I knew it, I was at the bottom, and the rush was over. The crew and I immediately went back up on the next lift line.

During a break, the snow began. We saw the snow, gulped down our food and returned to the mountain. This time the gateway into the mountain was enhanced tenfold. As we reached the top of the mountain, we no longer could see the parking lot. It was truly a white wonderland.

The snow gently caressed my face as I rode down the mountain.