Wildcat run

On a whim, Marathon Man, Dave, and I decided to go skiing for the day. The three of us has previously gone skiing together in one hilarious upstate NY trip. M-Man found a package deal where we get a train ticket, all day + night skiing lift ticket, and ski rentals for $70. Alone the lift ticket would have been $90. I guess it is the resorts way of trying to draw in city dwellers.

The town was only 70 miles north of Manhattan, so the train ride was only 90 minutes long. Well that was long enough for Dave to fall asleep and M-Man to mess with him. To maximize our ski time, we took the 7:56am train from the Harlem (125th st/MLK drive) station. I think Chris Rock said it best, “no matter what city you are in, if you are on Martin Luther King Drive/Street, you know it is the worst neighborhood in the damn city”. So true. Anyway, we met up at the McDonalds nearby to get breakfast and a large dose of cholesterol. M-Man ordered an extra hash brown with his value meal, but when the bagged goodness arrived, it was missing. He informed the clerk of the mistake and showed his receipt to prove that he did pay for an extra piece of fried food. Well they all gave him attitude like “oh now Whitey wants another hash-browwwwn, what next…you want a shoe shine cracker” Seriously, even at 7:30am on a Saturday morning, Harlem served us a heaping serving of attitude.

The package deal included a free shuttle between the train station and resort. Well we were all expecting a charter bus or something, but ended up with a tiny dented up van with “Thunder Ridge” stenciled on the side. While driving to the mile to the slopes, I spied a store that was antiques/army surplus. Wait antiques AND army surplus….have I died and gone to heaven? Well the van was a metaphor for the ski resort, you know not quite what we expected. Granted it did have a dozen or so slopes, but you spent more time in line for the chair lift than skiing down the actual slope. I think it was one of those “beginner” places where everyone learns how to ski before they get their asses kicked on a real mountain.

The hill (not mountain) received 6” of powder the night before, and I can safely say that it makes for terrible skiing. Seriously, it was like you were trying to slide through peanut butter. At least it made for good snow ball fights (oh yeah, we were those “city people” that the parents were all warning their children about). “Put that snowball down Johnny, they are a bad influence, yes they lead exciting lives and are the envy of everyone around them, but be happy you still have your morals!”