March 7, 2023 Cookster Rides Again

Cookster wanted to get the perfect season. After his ski buddy died he wanted to ride on snow every single day that Big White was open. He realized that you never know when it can all be taken away. It was time to seize the moment and try for the perfect season. It was time to get out and just do it. Instead of carpe diem, he would carve the season.

He skied and snowboarded in all weather. In freezing rain and frigid temps. He was out on the slopes every day the lifts were spinning. It didn’t matter the conditions, Cookster was at the bottom of the lift waiting for his daily dose of sliding heaven. Many people thought he was crazy. Why go out and ski when the only thing he could see was the hand in front of his face? Why ride when the temperature was below minus thirty degrees celsius?

Cookster wanted the perfect season because, like the mountain climber,  it was there. He wanted to prove to himself he could do it. In previous years he’d come close to riding every day. 2022-2023 would be different. Not only would Cookster get his hundred-day pin, but he would also get the satisfaction of saying he’d done it – he skied every single day the mountain was open. It was a tribute to his lost buddy.

By day 80 he was over halfway there. It had become an obsession of sorts. To some of his friends, he was almost too obsessed. They worried about his health, mental and physical. They cared if he would make the end of the season in one piece. 

But he was feeling good. His legs were strong and his back was firm. He would make it to the end.

Eight days later it all came crashing down.

Cookster felt great, he felt like flying. So fly he did. He’d jumped the XL hip jump in the park more than once. His confidence grew and his spirit flew alongside his body. His spirit may have been the spirit of a kid. Unfortunately, his body was not.

Cookster came crashing down.

For days afterward he wondered why. Why did he have to leave the solid earth and go for air? Why try to fly when cruising to the end was all he needed to do? When he crashed down to earth he tried to ignore the pain. He wanted to deny that he was injured. So he went back up the chairlift one more time. And skied back to the bottom on one leg. 

He felt a deep pit in his stomach as he made the last turns to the bottom. The pain was too much, even for someone who lived with pain every day. The pain told him what he feared the most.

His season was probably over. There would be no perfect year for Cookster. He didn’t think he would even get the hundred-day pin. The doctor said to stay off the leg and stay in bed. It was the sentences he dreaded to hear. 

Eight days after his devastating fall he awoke to a blue hue in the window. There was so much snow outside the sun was dimmed by the fresh powder on the ledge. His knee ached along with his heart, thirty-four centimetres covered the mountain in a fresh blanket of powder. He messaged his buddies, “You better get out there and ski the pow. Do a lap for me.” It was all he could do as he thought of powder days past.

Days passed slowly as the mountain’s snow base went up by eighty centimetres, he sat in his slope-side condo. Snow fell in dumps unseen all year. Someone up there was punishing him. And for what? He was a good man, he paid his taxes and loved his wife and friends. Some friends were there for him and some disappeared. 

All he could do was watch the snow continue to fall. Powder day after powder day and all Cookster could do was sit and feel sorry for himself.

But what was the point in feeling sorry for himself? 

It wouldn’t change anything. 

At least they told him, because he was so strong from skiing, his knee survived any serious injury. Maybe he would be back on skis before the end of the year. Maybe he could still get his hundred-day pin. It really was a first-world problem.

Then one day he woke up and the pain was gone. His leg felt better. His soul felt lighter. Maybe he could get to 100. He sure as hell would try.

Gently.

He would be there for his friend Salmers, that was first on his mind. He wanted to pay his respects to his lost buddy and be there when they spread his ashes on the mountainside. He might not get the perfect season this year, but he would be there when it mattered.

So he ventured out and skied a few runs. And he felt better. 

Until the next day when his good leg throbbed with agony. The problem was it wasn’t really his good leg. It was the leg he had been nursing for a couple of years since he hurt it at the beginning of covid. Now he had to figure out a way to ski on two wonky limbs.

Nothing would stop him though.

Life was all about riding on snow for Cookster. He wasn’t going to let his passion die. Injuries and time be damned, he would find a way. 

The sun gleamed over the slopes and the beauty of the world overwhelmed Cookster. He would find a way to heal and return. His passion would never die.

He rode again in the glory of a bluebird day. Cautiously, he stretched the limits of his leg, but this time he would listen to the voice that told him to take it easy, take it one day at a time. “Ski ya later,” he said with a smile as the chair lifted him skyward for another turn on the slopes.