How to adjust when your parents slow down
When my dad first helped me latch my hands around the rope tow, I don’t think he knew how deeply skiing would take root for me. In college, he bought me a telemark setup and, in the dark before my first tour, he helped me cut my skins—wobbly edged and uneven—under the dome light of his car. When I moved to the mountains to submerse myself fulltime in the uphill-downhill world of skiing, my dad would plan work meetings in Denver around storms and drive up I-70 to crash on my couch like one of my low-budget friends. He’d take my roommates out to dinner to alleviate the weirdness of couch dad.There was a point, sometime around then, when I became a better skier than he was. It felt odd to worry after a few minutes when he didn’t show up at the bottom. But he was always tougher. After I got soft and would only ski for a few hours, he’d still be at the lift early on scratchy, low temp days, PBJ in his pocket, ready to burn bell-to-bell. Read on...
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