Unlike the previous writer...I have never skied in the West.

I and some friends enjoyed the mountain (foothills to some) skiing in West Virginia and Pennsylvania, and usually found ourselves in quaint little ski resorts packed with local families. Located just up the road from our Shenandoah Valley home was a resort on Massanutten Mountain, (affectionately known as Mass of Nuthin' - because even the black diamond slopes are tame.) One winter night, I dragged my hippie husband, who had never skied before, to this place with a group of skiing buddies. He was wearing an old ski bib of mine - because we were too poor to afford to get him one for this trip - and he looked ridiculous - but didn't care. After some practice on the bunny slopes, he said he was ready for "the top." (the black diamond slope) There was really no snow at the top - just a bunch of ice. I tested it first to see the best route down, met him at the bottom...and we rode up. As we got off the lift, I was pointing out the way to go, hoping that we could take it slowly together. He went right off the lift without stopping, and shot down the slope at a tremendous pace - going the ultimate most difficult way. I shouted "no - wait for me!!!" - but it was no use, and I could see him wobbling along and going very uncontrollably fast. I started down, but was taking my time, cautiously, because of the treacherous ice. We got separated, and I met my friends at the bottom of the slope. They hadn't seen my husband, so we decided to go back up. On the lift - we heard a bunch of guys in front of us yelling down to someone on the slope, saying "nice ass" and things of the sort. We thought they were yelling to some girl - until we got a closer look. It was my husband, who had taken a spill - but was OK. He had split my ski bib with a huge rip directly up his backside. Even though he had on longjohns underneath - you really couldn't tell that in the dark. ;o) We still laugh about that story!!!

Geremia1