Skis | Snowboards | Life

It’s getting to that point, you know, the breaking point. The point where I almost can’t contain myself anymore, the point where I might just snap or scream. Who knows? Anything could happen.

I’m doubling my caffeine intake because it makes me feel like I’m going faster, kind of faking an adrenaline rush. I’m driving faster, not just faster but more stylish too. Taking care to down shift around corners like I were grabbing the tail of my ski for a laid out Japan air. Driving around with my head out the window is not an uncommon practice this time of year, again because it makes me feel like I’m going faster, I can also peep leaves way better outside the confines of a Ford Ranger cab. The smell of cold wakes me up in the morning. I’m still sleeping with my windows wide open like it was a 95 degree July night, not because I need to stay cool, but because I’m thickening my blood…preparing…preparing like a greedy chipmunk with over packed nuts in his satchel style cheeks, preparing like a grizzly bear packing on the L.B.’s as if he were going to hibernate for the next year.

I’m doing just about everything possible to keep busy, to keep my mind from drifting off into this recurring left turn pow-slash daydream. I look down and see the tips of my Bent Chetler’s every time, I couldn’t tell you where I am, probably somewhere siiiccckk, it doesn’t matter. Does any skier or snowboarder really know where they are this time of year? I know I don’t. What I do know is that I’m lost…more lost than Apple maps on an iPhone 5 looking for Dulles Airport (it doesn’t think it exists)…until it snows, then I start coming to, start snapping back into reality or whatever the kids are calling it these days.

The Lake we go wake surfing on has an algae infestation, which has prohibited us from any boat time for the past month. So I have started doing weird new things to reinvent my other hobbies. Mountain biking has turned into a confused episode of Hoarders and America Pickers. I keep acquiring old school steel frame mountain bikes, fixing them up into bar cruiser fixies and deciding it’s a good idea to take them into the woods and see what mountain biking was like in ’91, it’s bumpy. Longboarding is helping me hang in there but no matter how hard I try to make my skate shoes feel like ski boots it doesn’t happen, I just cannot seem to get them tight enough. I bought a wetsuit recently, the water off the N.H. coast starts getting cold this time of year as is tradition, making it difficult to sit on a surfboard for any length of time without one, who knew?

Someone said the acorn shells are the right shape for a banger winter, weather systems are converging or something, kind of like a George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg sword fishing, epic adventure. Storms are being named after epic characters like Gandalf and crap. The swell is picking up on the eastern seaboard, snow is predicted to fall in higher elevations this weekend, it’s nearly apocalyptic, it’s happening, yup, I’m losing my mind. Are those zombies or snowflakes? Wait, no, reality check, this is just a caffeine enraged stoke blog. Are you ready? ->->->***