The Sierra-Nevada Mountains (long)

The 3 of us got up Wednesday morning, cleaned up and hit the road to go skiing. We’d gotten directions from the front desk of the hotel we were at (we paid only 50 Euros when it is normally 140) to a place where we could rent the equipment from.

After taking the scenic route to get there, we finally arrived and got our boots and skis. It wasn’t until I mentioned it that we wondered how we were going to fit the 6 skis into the tiny little Daewoo. But it worked out and they fit just fine.

The owner of the shop informed us that he closed at 4:30 PM for their siesta (most shops here close in the afternoon for a few hours and reopen in the evening) and would reopen at 8:30 PM. Michele had to be at work by 7:30 PM so we knew we would have to make it back before 4:30 to get her back to Moron in time.

We got directions and started heading towards the mountains. It was a great trip up. The sights were great and Michele was going from stressed to very happy. She knew she was limited on how much she could ski since she had to be at work that night so every little delay tended to get her more stressed out (or pinging, which is the term we use).

After about 100 turns while curving up the road to the top, we made it. It looked great. We parked the car started our walk. First, we had to buy the lift tickets. We found the line for that. We had hoped to get just a half day ticket but unfortunately were unable to communicate that or they didn’t have them. We ended up paying 38 Euro for the lift ticket (over $50).

Next Michele and I wanted to get some disposable cameras. She didn’t bring her camera and I didn’t want to take mine up because it was a bit bulky and I knew I’d be falling a lot and didn’t want to destroy it. So I found a shop with disposable cameras and got in line. A short line in length but a LONG one in time. It was amazing. The girl checking people out had no sense of urgency whatsoever. Then the gal in front of us buys something and the checkout girl proceeds to spend 10 minutes wrapping the damn thing. And now Michele is pinging again because she wants to ski! Heck, I was pinging at this point.

We got the stupid cameras and got on the lift to go up to the slopes near the top of the mountain. I’ve been skiing once and Z had never been. Michele was the expert of the group so she was going to work with us just a bit. We got up to the easy hill and she took us down the first time. And we were skiing! Now, by skiing I mean we had skis on and were moving in a downhill direction. That’s about the only way to describe it. But Michele was helpful in telling different things to try.

We got to the bottom of the easy hill and Michele asked if it was ok if she went on to a hill that wasn't dominated with invalids, children and moving hazards. We told her we were fine. We’d get it. It took some convincing but we finally got her to go. We knew she wasn’t going to enjoy herself by babysitting us all day. We agreed to meet again at 3 PM.

Z and I got better pretty quickly. In fact, I’m surprised at how quickly we were improving. About the 3rd time down, I wasn’t falling at all. On about my 3rd run down, I was near the bottom of the hill where the slope is very gradual, celebrating in my mind my wonderful accomplishment when God decided it was time to humble me a bit by taking my skis and putting them on a death course with two English gals who were sitting nearby. I had plant my bottom on the ground to miss them and barely missed them.

But I got up again and we went back up the mountain to ski some more. On about the 4th trip up, Z and I got on the lift with a mom and her 10 year old son (just guessing on his age). My ski poles had nylon straps on them that I could put around my wrists to keep from losing them (this was handy on some of my wipeouts). I had them both hanging on my left wrist as we got on the lift. Well, the bottom of the poles got stuck underneath the lift, dragging in the snow, as we were sitting down on it. The kid next to me decides to pull down the gate from above us, pinning my wrist so I can’t move it. Now the lift is pulling the poles and on the verge of snapping my left wrist. I’m yelling on him to let go of the gate but he’s not. The lift was actually stopped because the poles weren’t giving and my wrist hadn’t given yet. Finally, the lift just pushed through and we were moving again. I was pissed and my wrist hurt like hell.

Z had tried to help while we were stuck but there was nothing he could do. On the ride up I was cursing this kid to myself and to Z. I wanted to push him off the lift, the brat. Well, we get to the top where we hop off the lift but the kid hops off too soon and the lift pushes him onto the ground and plows right over him. I’m looking back at him partially to make sure it isn’t going to hurt him and partially because it’s funny as hell. The kid is planted, chest down, on the ground and not even trying to get up. As I’m secretly enjoying this, I realize the lift I’m on is still moving and my feet are four feet off the ground.

I quickly jumped off and looked back in time to see the kid run over my the next lift-chair. He wasn’t getting hurt by it so I was able to enjoy it all the more. I looked at Z and said “That’s that you get you little punk! Don’t mess with Texas!”

That wasn’t really supposed to mean a whole lot since I’m not from Texas. But it’s a cool state and I knew no one there would know what the hell I was talking about anyway. I was tempted to yell "I'm Rick James, b*tch," but that's been about beaten to death by now.

We made a couple more runs down the easy slope and I was turning with no problems, weaving in-between people and stopping when I wanted (and not because I was falling down). I felt I had a pretty good grasp of the basics and my confidence was pretty high.

We met Michele around 3 and decided we were going to ski the rest of the way down the hill to the bottom, where our car was. There was a run that went all the way down.

BIG $^#@$ MISTAKE!!!

We started down and I did ok at first. I fell hard the first time but, hey, it happens. I got back up and kept going. Then I fell again. And again and again and again and again. It was terrible. My confidence was completely shot and I was completely worthless on the skis. You could have strapped Stephen Hawking on to some skis and gave him a push and he would have zoomed past me calling me a wuss. Well, he couldn’t have *said* it but he could have skid past me and typed it with his mouth and still done better than I was doing.

I think it took me 45 minutes to get down a hill that it would take most experienced people about 15. Shoot, even Z, who I was skiing much better than on the easy hill didn’t have near as much trouble as I did. It was definitely a low point.

We got to the bottom and I didn’t want to let that taint my entire two day experience in Granada. So I focused on the positive. But it was a bit hard because it was now near 4:15 and we had 15 minutes to make a 1 hour trip down the mountain. Michele was worried that she wasn’t going to get there in time. And she had reason to be. There was no way we’d make it.

We loaded up the car and got on the road. We had Z call the shop and try to get them to stay open a bit later for us. That didn’t work so well due to the language barrier. We kept going.

I don’t know how to explain it other than act of God because we were stuck behind some slow, plodding cars on the way down the mountain but it took us less than 45 minutes to get the shop when it took us an hour to get up the mountain. And we were driving faster going up the mountain!

We weren’t quite sure which exit to take on the way down and we stumbled upon a shortcut somehow. Now, by the phrase “stumbled upon a shortcut somehow” I mean God had put us on the right track. We got to the shop late, around 5 PM but they were still open (that act of God thing, I'd like to believe). We dropped off our equipment and hit the road.

A bit earlier we noticed it but I could really feel it now. The bottom half of my face had gotten a lot of sun and windburn. I was pretty pink. So was Michele. Z, being Mexican, was a tad redder than when he’d started but it was nothing.

The time we spent on that mountain, aside from the last 45 minutes, was the best time I’ve had in Spain. I had such a great time skiing and the view was incredible. And the word incredible doesn’t seem to do it justice.

The day was a reminder, and maybe this is why I haven’t dwelt on that last 45 minutes, of how truly blessed I am. I was skiing on one of the best slopes in the world, with an incredible view and beautiful weather.

There are now some photos here (pics 99-117) from Z’s digital camera. Some are also from the Alhambra. When I get mine developed, I’ll add them as well.

Rental car and gas: $40
Hotel: $18
Food: $20
Lift Ticket: $50
Ski Equip: $22
Memories: you know how it goes.

Score: Ang 8, Sis 7, Joe S 6, Tara 5, Sarah 5, Sis-in-law 4, Pops 3, Carly 3, Heather S 2, Me 2, Chad 1.