I always wanted to learn how to ski. Living in West Texas
was not the best place in the world to learn this sport unless one was rich
and had access to Ruidoso, New Mexico. I eagerly put on my skis and got to the
lift and went straight to the top of the hill everyone had been descending.
Not having any previous lessons, I just started down the hill on my skis and
ski poles. It wasn’t long before I decided I made another stupid mistake,
as I began descending more rapidly than I expected. I began trying to stop using
my poles, but this did not help. Everyone started yelling at me, but I couldn’t
understand and just kept going down the hill. At last, I spied a snow bank just
ahead of me and decided to plow into the side of it, which caused me to stop
rather abruptly. What I did wasn’t pretty, but very effective. After I
got back to the top of the hill again, the German instructress came over and
told me not to use the poles for stopping as I might have one run through my
body. I hadn’t given this much thought, but decided I needed some start
and stop lessons before trying the hill again. After receiving some instruction,
I became fairly good at going down the hill. The lady instructor, by the way
had been an instructor for the German troops while they lived up there.
On another occasion, while still stationed on top of the mountains,
some of the fellows and I decided to go down to the little village situated
about two miles from where we were stationed. The only way we knew how to get
to the village was walk. As we pondered the situation, we noticed some of the
German boys going down the mountain on their sleds. We walked over and asked
if they knew of any transportation down the mountain and they replied they would
take us down on their sleds for a package of gum. I believe we were all a little
reluctant to ride those two miles with boys only nine to twelve years old, but
one of us decided he would go and the rest, not to be out done, picked his driver
and sled. These kids knew how to drive a sled even if they were young. They
instructed us to be sure to keep our feet on the rails since they would be using
their feet to guide the sled. It was all of two miles and only took two minutes
to reach the bottom. I could compare this ride with my experience on the roller
coaster at the Texas Centennial. As we began picking up speed right away, I
asked myself, what have I gotten into this time? In the two miles we traveled,
the descent must have been at least two thousand feet. Down the mountain we
went, reaching speeds of sixty and seventy miles an hour, going around curves
and seeing the tops of trees well below the road we traveled. On one bend of
the road I remember a large fallen tree stretching across the path. The next
thing I remember was ducking under this huge tree picking up more speed as we
passed heading for the bottom. All kinds of thoughts went through my head. Would
this boy be able to stop this sled at the bottom or would we have to turn into
a snow bank like I did while skiing? I soon found out. As we neared the bottom,
the young driver began putting on the brakes, (digging his heels in the snow)
until the sled came to a complete stop. All I can say is “What a Ride”!
When we paid our drivers, we went on down to the village and they began climbing
back up the hill for another ride down. I am sure it took them all of an hour
to get back up that mountain. This ride turned out to be the topic of conversation
for most of the day. We all agreed if we returned to the village, we would walk
down the mountain.