Yesterday provided me with yet another friendly reminder that I am and always have been a clumsy oaf with regards to recreational activities which rely on a sense of balance. My mental filing clerk brought up old memories of youth outings to the Rollerdrome, drinking lots of fountain soda and playing arcade games because I was sick of falling down and crashing into walls. One time I even fell out the open back door of the place, spilling out of the dark roller rink into broad daylight.
I never got into the skater fad of the late 80s/early 90s. Partly because it was dumb, but mainly because I couldn't skateboard my way out of a wet paper bag.
I rollerbladed one time in our gym class at LaFollette. Once was plenty.
In that same gym class, we did a lot of cross country skiing. I actually kind of enjoyed it, despite the fact that I fell down constantly. To this day I have never made it skiing down a hill of any magnitude without falling down.
One time this winter I almost did. I was with Erin and Macy in Oscarville, and I went down a little hill and was doing really good. I wasn't flailing my arms or anything. But, directly in front of me Erin had decided to stop in the middle of the trail and stand there talking about her dog. I had to bail in order to not completely blast into them. And there went my one moment of not falling down a hill.
I've always been envious of those who go downhill skiing and snowboarding because it looks so unbelievably fun. But based on my experiences with waterskis, wakeboards and snowboards, I know that will never happen for me. If I ever attempted downhill skiing, it would almost certainly cause lots of pain, humiliation, and X-rays.
I only mention all this, because yesterday after school, Dirk and I decided to load up a bunch of clips of 22 shells, ski out to the dump and shoot stuff. The dump here is a wasteland of dead appliances and snowmachines jutting out of the tightly packed snow.
I only fell down a couple of times on the way there.
I think it's pretty cool that all the way out here there is a small wind farm. With all the wind out on the coast here, I don't know why there aren't more of these things in place.
Last weekend when we were ice fishing, I could hear the whoosh whoosh of the blades of these
turbines slicing the wind into pieces. Much quieter than the diesel powered generators though.
After come cathartic plinking of things in the dump, Dirk's dog Katja was getting cold and we were windblown, so it was time to head back. Back down the hill. I watched him go first, and it looked like fun, cruising effortlessly down a gentle slope, gaining some speed. In no time he was about 1/4 mile away, down at the bottom.
I made it about 100 feet before I fell. I was actually pretty happy. This was a personal best. I got back up, and made it about 100 more feet before falling again, this time a little harder. When I got back up, I was on enough of a decline that I started to slide right away. Boom. Repeat that 2 more times. Finally, I was on a flat spot where I could regain footing and attempt the rest of the hill, which I fell on only once. By the way, when I call this a hill, that's an exaggeration really. It's nothing more than a gentle slope. Sad sad sad!!!
Earlier in the week Dirk had mentioned going to ski this hill behind the village.
Sounds like fun. Looks like fun. But, I really think I'd be be a lot better off with a sled on this one. I'll probably try it anyways.
Another Contract, Another Year!
2 months ago