While visions of golf and sunshine are still dancing in this sportsman's head, my quadriceps served as a swift reminder that the winter months have indeed arrived.
Accompanied by my loyal band of expert ski bum compatriots, including one Francis Faillace of South American ski adventure fame, we took to the slopes with both excitement and playful air and crash-seeking merriment.
Opening day at the 'bush serves as a more elaborate version of, say, the first farmers' market of the warm season. We Valley folk take our short jaunt up German Flats Road for granted after all. I cannot say that I was at all looking forward to an early morning at Lincoln Peak, following the whistling wind I heard from my bedroom window as the sun rose.
{mosimage}
The slew of giddy children and their parents in the base lodge, all overjoyed with the prospect of ski season reborn, was enough to numb the pain and general dismemberment associated with cramming my soft feet in cold, unforgiving race-fit boots.
While resort president Win Smith's Burmese Mountain pup "Rumble" (complete with SB nametag) is enough to keep me coming back for more, I'll wait it out until the Castlerock Pub reopens.
