I’m lying head downslope in knee-deep powder looking up the underside of a leafless tree canopy, the sharp pain in my front leg beginning to dull with the onset of the adrenaline rush. I manage to get my board untangled from the ice-ball rock garden that I have wandered into and try to rub out the Charley Horse in my right quad. I know from the dullness this isn’t going to be a minor injury, so I focus on getting the board under me and traversing out of the sidecountry and onto a groomed course before I go shocky and black out in the worst-case-scenario. I am a little wobbly, but the leg doesn’t fold under the weight. I complete the drop into the little bowl I was S-turning down onto when I found the icy Linga of Death, crossing a little gulley and toe-siding out to the Echo course. After a little breather, I ride out to the base.
Two days later, I’m sitting here typing this while having my instant bowl tan tan mein while in that time, a lingering front has dropped half-a-meter of fluffy white powder. Taken out on the first riding day! Chikusho! I’m stuck indoors doing RICE on a sprained knee and there is a meter of new powder I can’t tear lines into. Kuso! The swelling is going down and happy bruise colors are starting to show up. Walking has reverted to a two-legged event and doesn’t require grabbing onto tables and door frames for support, but there is no way I’ll be able to ride Friday or Saturday. This season is over like nobody’s business.
Oh sheet, take care of dat & recover good! We really need to do the backcountry cat tour thing soon, can hear the clock ticking what with Fab getting melon scan from after effects of last trip injury.