Our oldest son, an experienced skier, urged us to join him at a
winter event. In a nearby town, the YMCA had set up a small ski
run on the highest hill in the area. Having no experience made us
reluctant, but we conceded with the assurance that it was set up
for beginners.
We were then middle-aged, strong, and healthy and I thought
we should do well. This was a rare event because central New
Jersey was not mountainous. Upon arrival, we found the hill
crowded with people of all ages. The trail appeared to be short
but steep. Mats were set up for amateurs like us to practice.
Finally, it was time. With our son at her side, Geri pushed off
and skied down the hill. To my amazement, she landed upright
and without incident. I followed and did well until I hit an icy
portion, where I slipped and fell. No problem, we all laughed and
moved over to the lift.
The lift consisted of a heavy rope in a continuous loop with a
wench at the top of the hill keeping it in motion. With skis on I took
hold of the rope with both hands. The rope was covered with ice,
and it took considerable effort to hang on as you were pulled
upward.
Meanwhile, a fearful Geri was finally convinced to use the lift.
“Just hold on tight Mom, and let the rope do the work,” Ronnie
said.
Geri joined the crowded lift and proceeded upward. Nearly
reaching the summit she suddenly let out an, “ow,” as her grip on
the rope failed. Geri landed on her butt, moving downhill taking all
the lifters behind her along. She also tripped a few of the people
skiing downhill. About a dozen people ended up in a pile at the
bottom of the hill. Luckily, no injuries were reported.
From my view atop the hill, it seemed like a crazy Laurel and
Hardey movie. We laugh at ourselves when we think of the events
of that cold winter day. Incidentally, Ronnie and his bride-to-be
were frequent skiers, Geri and I retired from the sport that day.
-Ron Forzani
