Bond With the Wind
Do not doubt why the tram is closed.
By KEN BRADY

As usual, Danny was late. Jay Peak had been getting dumped on for two solid weeks. Three feet over a 10-day period to be exact, and it was still coming down. Granted it was 3 a.m., but I was ready to go. He pulled up at 3:15 and sheepishly offered to drive as penance for his tardiness. I threw my gear in the truck and off we went.

On the way I noticed that the dashboard thermometer read -5 degrees. "That thing accurate?" I asked. "'Fraid so," was the curt reply. With the heat on and an average of 85 miles per hour, it's funny how a 5 hour drive becomes a 3 1/2 hour joyride.

But as we pulled in to the lot at Jay I again looked at the thermometer. 0 degrees. Some warming trend. "You sure that thing is accurate?" He looked at me with the compassion of a serial killer.

And so we bought our tickets, only to be told that the tram wouldn't run due to severe winds. Now sure, it was damn cold, but I didn't feel any wind. And I was really looking forward to the heated tram.

After donning every layer of fleece we brought, we hopped on the Green Mountain Flyer Chair for the long, cold ride. We pouted and muttered about the angry letter we'd send to management for closing the tram for no good reason. We were in full bitch mode when we crested a ridge and were rocketed by the sudden force of a runaway freight train.

It slammed into us with animal ferocity. Torture. Were we being punished for doubting? The wind chill drove us deep into our garments. The chair, which is designed not to swing in high winds, swung back and forth like a well-greased amusement park ride. We tried to put our hands up to shield our faces but became too terrified to let go of the bar. The chair was close to tipping on its side and dumping us both off.

Danny began to sob uncontrollably and told me that he loved and admired me and that I was the best skier he had ever skied with. (OK maybe not, but if you see Danny tell him you heard that.) I began to question my commitment to this sport. We swung to what seemed like inches from the lift tower. I seriously wondered if this was it.

Of course, it wasn't. We'd had a major scare, and after collecting ourselves on the summit we swore that our one run of the day had better be worth it. We dropped into one of Jay's secret glades and quickly landed in waist-deep powder. It was calmer in the trees and we splashed through the fluff like toddlers in a kiddy pool. We aired off of rocks, bumps, and stumps that littered the woods, each jump ending with a feathery soft landing and a "Wooooohooooo!" We reached the bottom doubled-over with exhaustion and laughter from the effects of our fabulous run.

And then we saw the bullwheel. We stopped laughing and looked at each other. We saw the empty chairs calmly being sent into the bulbous sky and we froze in place, not quite sure what to do next.


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