THE BEST TURN OF 2014
AND HOW YOURS TRULY TOTALLY OWNED IT.
THANKS TO SOCIAL MEDIA, BILLIONS NOW believe in an utter falsehood: that you and I give a crap about them. We don’t, no matter how many times they post GoPro footage of cat tracks.
Judging by the number of cretins-with-camera-mounts I blew past last season, skiing (like society in general) suffers a hopeless epidemic of self-congratulation. Everywhere we turn, our sport rips its collective anorak to pat its own back. Entities “win” titles for such peculiarities as “Best MixedSnow Ski” or “Best New Ski Chalet.” The industry hands awards for Jib of the Year, or to a state’s finest snowmaker. Sad but true: In a sport that humbles and even kills, modesty as we know it may soon cease to exist.
I guess, then, there’s no sense keeping my own greatness to myself anymore. Ergo, I proclaim that your humble author, Rob Fucking Story, on January 10 did execute and perform the single best ski turn of 2014. That’s right. Hear me now and listen to me later: I achieved rare and special excellence whilst ripping a Telluride slope called Millions.
(Oh, I’m not claiming Run of the Year or anything of the sort; one requires a foot or more of fresh for legitimate ROY consideration. Telluride recorded but six inches that day ... yet 14 loaded in pillows among the trees. And that’s where I threw down like James Brown.)
You should have seen me. For one shining moment, I was bold, flawless, and beautiful—words that haven’t always described my glade skiing. A blue-spruce collision once sent me to the ER. Wayward branches have burgled my hat, goggles, and even an avy shovel. As a result, I tend to overturn in trees, wallowing to a halt in sugary wells.
Not this time. Floating on 115-millimeter-waisted boards, I approached that Millions tree with speed and authority. Ten feet away, I pressured my left ski—influencing the bejesus out of the ensuing arc. Curving left to right around the conifer in question, I extended an aesthetic pole plant. My arm barely brushed a branch, releasing a gentle curtain of virgin white. Rounding through the turn’s apex, more snow fanned out from my tails, misting up in exquisite contrails of my own awesomeness.
Your envy is appropriate. Exalt me in the manner of your choosing.
Skiers often talk about the best day of the season and don’t need much persuasion to get further micro and determine the finest run. But a winter’s best turn? Given that we zig a thousand zags before lunch, it’s tough to call out just one; rare to recognize a half-second of pure perfection. I’m glad this happened to me ... and not you.
According to estimates, our planet holds as many as 115 million skiers. And last January, I triumphed over all y’all. I coiled into what was Absolutely, Without Peer, the Finest, Prettiest, Bestest Ski Turn of 2014.
And no, I’m not watching your GoPro footy to make sure.