Sonora / Snow
Feb. 25th, 2010 04:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snousleCurrently visiting Ted in Sonora. He's putting a trailer hitch on the catering van, so while he worked on that, I took his flatbed pickup to Dodge Ridge for some snowboarding.
It's a '66 Chevy. I thought I was going to die. The clutch is like a stairmaster set on "pain". Shifting is like wrestling a python. The "horn" is two wires you have to touch together, and there are "custom" electrical panels everywhere. The thing goes all over the road with even a little ice. It makes terrible noises. Yeah, it's the hottest fucking truck I've ever driven, but DANG. On the plus side, I feel twice as manly for having actually driven it on mountain roads and lived.
The weather was spectacular - hot and sunny. The groomed snow was excellent, but the rest of it was some of the worst ever. About an inch of crust, which is easy to glide over until you try to initiate a turn. Then, you break through, the crust grabs the board, and you get thrown on your ass. Under the lift, of course, with everyone watching. Bonus points for getting stuck head-first with your feet flailing around in the air.
A super-extra-hot daddybear caught my eye, and after chasing him around the mountain for a while, I was able to look busy and stall at the base of the lift for just long enough that I could plausibly invite him to share a chair with me. He said yes. BONUS!!! Unfortunately he turned out to be a family man. But there was definitely a vibe there.
I realized that he was recognizing me not as a potential trick, but as a member of that other tribe into which I have so recently emerged: middle aged men who get to do whatever the fuck they want. He was a local, from Sonora, with a contracting business, a couple of motorcycles, and a place in Mexico. 63 years old, and a damned fine snowboarder, too! Most aspiring snowboarders don't catch on to the sport unless they start as teenagers. There was definitely something there, but common decency kept me from coming on too hard to a married man. Not that I didn't give him every opportunity to make a move himself. ;-) Anyway, he was something of an inspritation. A whole bunch of purely self-imposed limits have been holding me back these past few years, and talking to him for just fifteen minutes made me realize I need to shed all of them, get off my ass, and start flexing my muscles. This is going to start with pissing off certain people in a major way. No More Mister Nice Guy.
Gods, he was so, so, so hot. [bites knuckles] I want to be just like him twenty years from now.
It's Ted's 75th birthday today so I'm taking him out to a local steakhouse for dinner tonight. This is entirely coinidental, I just picked this date for the good weather. Really.
It's a '66 Chevy. I thought I was going to die. The clutch is like a stairmaster set on "pain". Shifting is like wrestling a python. The "horn" is two wires you have to touch together, and there are "custom" electrical panels everywhere. The thing goes all over the road with even a little ice. It makes terrible noises. Yeah, it's the hottest fucking truck I've ever driven, but DANG. On the plus side, I feel twice as manly for having actually driven it on mountain roads and lived.
The weather was spectacular - hot and sunny. The groomed snow was excellent, but the rest of it was some of the worst ever. About an inch of crust, which is easy to glide over until you try to initiate a turn. Then, you break through, the crust grabs the board, and you get thrown on your ass. Under the lift, of course, with everyone watching. Bonus points for getting stuck head-first with your feet flailing around in the air.
A super-extra-hot daddybear caught my eye, and after chasing him around the mountain for a while, I was able to look busy and stall at the base of the lift for just long enough that I could plausibly invite him to share a chair with me. He said yes. BONUS!!! Unfortunately he turned out to be a family man. But there was definitely a vibe there.
I realized that he was recognizing me not as a potential trick, but as a member of that other tribe into which I have so recently emerged: middle aged men who get to do whatever the fuck they want. He was a local, from Sonora, with a contracting business, a couple of motorcycles, and a place in Mexico. 63 years old, and a damned fine snowboarder, too! Most aspiring snowboarders don't catch on to the sport unless they start as teenagers. There was definitely something there, but common decency kept me from coming on too hard to a married man. Not that I didn't give him every opportunity to make a move himself. ;-) Anyway, he was something of an inspritation. A whole bunch of purely self-imposed limits have been holding me back these past few years, and talking to him for just fifteen minutes made me realize I need to shed all of them, get off my ass, and start flexing my muscles. This is going to start with pissing off certain people in a major way. No More Mister Nice Guy.
Gods, he was so, so, so hot. [bites knuckles] I want to be just like him twenty years from now.
It's Ted's 75th birthday today so I'm taking him out to a local steakhouse for dinner tonight. This is entirely coinidental, I just picked this date for the good weather. Really.
