On the Maladies of the Mountain

I saw the Yeti in Colorado.

There I was, carving my way down a slope on my snowboard, feeling the burn of the snow-reflected sun on my white-boy skin, feeling the sharpness of the glacial wind tear at my flesh as I sped down the mountain enjoying the rush, the view and my time away from the regular woes of a 7AM to 10PM job. Life could not have been any better. All was well. My adrenaline was flowing and the good times reigned supreme.

However, as is common with these kind of activities, with the high there is always a low (in this case, usually a good ole' black and blue spanning the entire surface of your left but cheek due to the many falls on the slippery slope). As I turned a tight corner flanked by rows of proud centurions in the shape of tall and majestic pines, quite suddenly, my board caught an edge on the ice and I was flung deep into the centurion woods. I lost all sense of direction as my body slid down the mountain, tumbling between trees, slamming against rocks, contorting limbs, flailing arms, twisted knees, bent ankles, bleeding nose - the fall seemed to be endless. An then, as quickly as I had lost control, my anarchic tumble suddenty came to complete stop as I violently crashed against the most solid of surfaces I have ever had to endure.

As I recovered from the fall I quickly realized that I was not alone. Standing in front of me, and having halted my fall, was a gigantic beast that smelled off boiled yams and Red Bull.

My innate desire to survive kicked in, and all neurotransmiters assigned to advise me of the pain my body was feeling were ordered to stand down. Terrified, I tore my snowboard off and instinctively raised it above my head to appear taller than I am. The Yeti immediately reacted and threw his burly fist in my direction.

I battled the beast for what seemed to be hours with the blunt part of my snowboard. My aim was to injure it long enough to have time to hop on my board and ride the rest of the way down, thus escaping what would surely end in the death of one of the two (and I had a good idea of who would ultimately win the battle). Surprisingly, I did well enough using my boot clamps as handles and, when necessary, the board as a shield. But in the end the altitude got to me; I couldn't catch my breath and began heaving for air....

As I gasped my last breath of air the Yeti bludgeoned me once with his gigantic fist. It was an immediate K.O.

I woke up (hours, days?) later deep in a cave and feeling terribly hung-over, only to discover that I was being held captive by a family of sour smelling man-beasts (and as it turns out, the hangover was actually a concussion). I passed in and out of consciousness for the next couple of days until one cold night - somehow- I managed to gather strength and courage to escape!

I ran and fell and ran and slid and ran for hours always heading downhill. All I can recall are flashbacks of trees rushing past me, earth in my mouth, blood on my hands, snow down my shirt, the sun beginning to rise, and then total and complete darkness as my body finally gave in to its limits.

It was a pair of punk teenage snowboarders that found me shivering in the fetal position at the top of a double diamond in Keystone. I was rushed to the hospital, my wounds treated, I was fed and all my boo-boo's made better.

Everybody had questions, and they asked me what had happened...

...-"A pack of wild beaver's" - I said....

The truth shall remain untold. The world isn't ready for the truth. The world isn't ready for the Yeti...