The music is cranking in the ears - Phish is alive and well. The tuning tools are laid out on the bench, crying out to be used, to make the skis come alive with their need for swift arcs and screaming speed.
Mix the combination of waxes to obtain just that right blend for the conditions coming - mixes of harder groomed snow, the fresh snow we're being promised and whatever else the steep, nasty monster we call Whiteface cares to throw at the slick sticks. We may not have the softness of Western snow, but 3,430 of vertical is nothing to scoff at, particularly once there's enough snow for the slides to be open.
The solitude of working on the equipment is just right for a Sunday morning, accompanied by the power of a dark French roast.
Enjoying the feel of every detail that goes into a clean, sharp edge and of the details that lead to just the right amount of wax and the glossy black of the finished base...all holding forth a promise of a perfect day on a mountain, any mountain.
Muscle time: strip that wax down to the next to last layer....scrape it, buff it, brush it - over and over until it's just right to the touch - until it gleams and says "take me out and let me show you what I can do."
Skiing is so much more than just a sport or activity - it's is more than just a day outdoors. It is truly an experiential event on so many planes. At times, it is a religious experience where mind and body and environment meet, become one and leave you breathless in the wake of the intensity and passion. It is, at times, the essence of life.
On skis, more than the music is alive and well - I am alive in a way no other experience can over match. Live to ski - ski to live.
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