It had started out innocently enough.
“Let’s go tubing,” they said, “it’ll be fun,” they said…
That mountain became my nemesis.
That mountain humbled me.
That mountain gave me a reality check.
I went in there with a head full of fun and frolic, and I left with a limp, a whimper, and a cracked tailbone.
The night had begun uneventfully enough, with a fierce quest for adventure and winter time thrills.
I had never once considered the dangers. Especially since I had gone tubing before, and enjoyed it quite a bit.
I had also dipped my toe in many another endeavor without pause. I had skydived, and zip-lined, and navigated the roaring whitewater rapids in a raft…
I had jumped in headfirst into so many an adventure, that a night out tubing at the pass seemed harmless.
We had arrived to find a bit of a snow/rain mix, and everyone was scrambling for the tubes, and rushing to catapult themselves down the icy hill into oblivion. So I grabbed the first one I could get my hands on, and quickly got in line.
The first time down, I definitely felt the rush. It was pretty slick due to the dense snow pack, and the light rain had added an invisible layer of slippery ice. But the tube I had chosen was a bit over inflated, and since I couldn’t nestle securely down into in it, I felt a bit vulnerable. And as I was going down the hill, I felt as though the tiniest bump might bounce me out of my vessel.
I furiously clung to the handles for dear life, and white knuckled it all the way to the bottom. Like a bolt of white lightning, I had rocketed to the base of the run.
And my very first thought after reaching the bottom of the hill, was that I needed to trade in my tube for a better one.
A safer one.
But what I did not know then, was, that decision would drastically change the next ten months of my life… Continue reading The Legendary Saga of Brokebutt Mountain