We went to a ski resort yesterday.
This is normally not the thing one does in August in the midwest, as both terrain and climate tend to be rather unfavorable for skiing. But there are hills in the nation’s tender midsection if you look hard enough, and we weren’t there to ski.
This particular resort figured out that being open only three months a year was probably not a viable economic strategy, so in the summer time they set up two luge runs down one of the ski slopes. You get onto these funky little blue sleds at the top of the hill and you hurtle down the chute at speeds approaching Mach 1 until you get to the bottom and hit the tires at the end of the chute. And then you ride the ski lift back up to the top of the hill and do it again.
That’s the plan, anyway.
When you do it right, it looks like this:
The buzzards circling overhead were probably just coincidental.
Yes, there were buzzards overhead. A whole flock of them. Herd? Pod? What is the name for a large group of buzzards, anyway? Law school? Whatever – they were there, floating lazily overhead, always watching and waiting, don’t worry, nothing to see here citizen, move along.
It does make you a bit more careful in the turns than you might otherwise be.
We spent the entire afternoon zipping up and down the hill. The dark blue sleds go faster than the light blue sleds, and a good pair of wrap-around sunglasses will give you at least some protection against slow-moving insects.
The things you learn.