The following story is true and it will have more meaning to those of you who have ever been involved with coaching alpine skiing. My team was competing at Big Rock in Mars Hill, Maine and the skiers had arrived at the lodge and were preparing for the day’s event when one of them(I’ll call him Rick) comes up to me and says, “Coach, I don’t think I can race today.”
“What’s wrong,” I asked. “Are you sick?”
“No, I forgot my gloves.”
“Uh, Rick, I don’t think that’s a problem. Here, I have an extra pair.”
Ten minutes later, another skier comes to me, “Coach, guess who forgot his boots?”
I took a quick look around the group and there stood Rick with the dumbest look on his face.
I ventured a guess, “Rick?’
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I’m telepathic.”
To Rick’s credit, he quickly came up with a solution. Don’t forget, he felt he couldn’t race because he forgot his gloves but not racing wasn’t a consideration without boots! He sprinted to the rental shop and rented a pair for the day.
By the time he was geared up, the rest of the team was on the slopes with the alpine coach inspecting the course. Rick put on his skis and headed for the lift. Minutes later, he comes running through the front door where I was standing, “I forgot my bib.” Racers have to wear a racing bib when inspecting the course. He went upstairs, put on his bib, came running back down, slipped on the cement floor and landed in a heap at my feet. He scrambled to his feet and headed out the door. “Have a nice day.” I called.
Sometime later I was relating Rick’s tough start to the day to a colleague and he said, “Do you suppose he had his bindings adjusted to the new boots? If they’re too loose, he could come out of them while skiing.”
As it happened, we didn’t have to worry about that because, you see, one ski fell off as he was riding up the lift and Rick, being the quick thinker that he is, jumped out of the chair to retrieve it.
A day later, we are on our way home. It’s seven hours from Mars Hill to Bethel. The skiers traveled on a school bus and I followed, driving a van full of ski equipment. We stopped at Burger King in Houlton and out comes Rick with the largest container of soda I’d ever seen.
“Rick, you thirsty?”
Two hours later, we’re just south of Bangor on I-95 when the bus makes an emergency stop. I have no idea why. I’m just starting to think that someone is sick when Rick jumps from the doorway of the bus, over the snowbank, and lands in the ditch in plowed and drifted snow up to his crotch. I get on the radio to the bus driver, “Hey, Gary, what the hell is he doing?”
“Did you see the soda that he bought at Burger King?”
There was probably 2 inches of crusted snow on top and Rick was not only in a ditch but at the base of a ledge that ran about 10 feet straight up and 20 feet in either direction parallel to the highway. Traffic is roaring by so fast that the van and bus are rocking. Rick’s best option would have been to wet his pants, since they were getting wet anyway, and get back on the bus. He tried making his way along the base of the ledge by walking on the crust but being in excess of 200 pounds, he didn’t have a chance. He’d work one foot out, place it on top and try to step up, only to break through and return to where he started. He kept this up for what seemed like forever. I’m laughing so hard the tears are running.
He finally gets up on top of the ledge and behind a bush where I think he breaks Tom Hank’s record he set in a locker room scene in “A League of Their Own.” If I’d only had a stop watch.
You’d think that would be the end of the story. Guess what he did next? Yep, he jumped.