Most people would never be willing to jump into an ice-topped lake in the middle of winter for any cause, even to save their own mother, but there are a few that would be tempted to participate in a polar plunge once just to cross it off their bucket list. Then there are those, like us, who have plunged again and again. We habitual jumpers repeat this tradition for a different reason- we are crazy.
For the third consecutive year, Jason and I took part in the Polar Bear Plunge, a fundraiser for the Special Olympics. Now, before you gasp in dismay, remember: no ill-fated endeavor is too idiotic for charity. Diving into 30 degree water is stupid but diving into 30 degree water for a cause is heroic…or at least benevolently foolhardy. And believe me, you need those goodwill warm fuzzies when you’re submerged in water so cold that you can’t breathe.
Our super team featured Mario, Luigi, Princess Peach, Toad, Waluigi, and Wario.
Our team again dressed in ridiculous costumes for this event. This time Super Mario Bros. was our muse. Because of my blonde hair, I was nominated to come as Princess Peach. Being royalty was okay with me but it did require some gussying up. I didn’t finish sewing my skirt, crown, and necklace until 2 AM the morning of the jump due to some other stitching projects consuming all of my time. It’s hard being a Highness.
Jason and Jeremy again pulled out their special Speedos for this special event.
Our geeky theme turned out to be immensely popular. While we arrived too late to participate in the costume contest, which for unknown reasons started half an hour earlier than scheduled, I’m pretty certain that we would have won had we been present. Once our team had all gathered, it took us about 20 minutes to move the few yards to the jump line because so many people wanted their picture taken with us. Our costumes also attracted the attention of news crews and we ended up being interviewed by two different stations. Oh the woes of being everyone’s darlings! See the links I posted in the comments section to check out those news clips.
Your unavoidable fate as a Popsicle fills you with horror as you plummet toward that icy water.
We were expecting to be blown about and snowed upon by a winter storm as we were bounding into Utah Lake but, thankfully, the skies cleared unexpectedly that morning for a bit. Although it was still unbearably cold, that sunshine, and its imagined warmth, made us feel a little better about charging into water that had been covered with ice 18 inches thick just a few days earlier. The lake was so iced up this year that the usual chainsaw method could not be used to cut a plunging hole. Yup, it’s been a frigid winter and the bits of the lake that weren’t frozen solid felt like they might as well have been when we hit them.
No matter how many times you’ve plunged, that water always feels colder than you remember it being.
The plunge was a miserable but fun experience. Several of our would-be teammates chickened out at the last minute and practically had to be forced into signing up. They claimed that this would be their final plunge ever. Yet, before feeling had even returned to their extremities, they were plotting next year’s costumes. I guess that pre-plunge dread makes some people forget that this wacky experience isn’t all suffering. I can guarantee that Jason and I will be participating again next year because we are just that stupid. We don’t let things like heart-stopping cold, hypothermia, or frozen limbs get in the way of making fools of ourselves. And making fools of ourselves for a cause is even better. May the Speedo-girded glory of the Plunging Plumbers reign forever!
Jason and I have been home even less frequently than usual as of late. Between mini-vacations, Sundance films, work trips, and all that regular stuff, the last few weeks have flown by in an awful hurry. But that didn’t stop us from somehow squishing yet another weekend getaway into our schedule. Our friends, Cam and Jim, are involved in a business together. They, along with their wives, were going to spend a couple days at a cabin up at Daniels Summit as a corporate retreat. Jason and I are not connected with their company in any way but they extended an invite for us to tag along nonetheless. We are usually the ones offering the free stays so this was a reversal of norms. I guess sometimes karma does give kickbacks.
The cabin had a large living area that made a great place to relax and laugh.
The cabin turned out to be monstrous. I think our house would probably have fit in it a couple times over. Its cozy living space quickly became game central. Jason and I taught the gang Saboteur and then tried to teach everyone Bang. The concept of Bang is apparently more elusive than I thought, which explains why the team Jason and I were on slaughtered all the others effortlessly.
Jason and I got trapped in our room by a blockade of fluff.
After our gaming that first night, Jason became a rabble-rouser. My hubby is an instigator, as many of you know, and he was in true mischief-maker mode that evening. He prompted a few juvenile pranks and soon pillows were flying everywhere. Before long, that ringleader and I found ourselves barricaded in our room by a wall of couch cushions. Good times.
Our posse of riders boldly went where no snowmobile had gone before…and then got stuck there.
The next day we spent all hours of light out on Daniels Summit’s many trails and meadows with our rented snowmobiles. The area has plentiful path options, some of which take as long as 2 hours to loop. For the most part we traveled as an earsplitting pack but Jason and I took a breather from the group midday in order to hit the Summit’s summit. Apparently, when the skies are clear the view is amazing from the top but we couldn’t see the blanketed valleys strewn out below us; we couldn’t even see a few feet in the distance. Although a cloud was taking a rest on the saddle, making visibility minimal and temperatures chilly, we still enjoyed checking out that misty peak.
It looks like I’ve got a grey backdrop behind me but it’s just the peak’s mist.
When Jason and I were riding with the gang, we consumed a lot of time digging stuck snowmobiles out of the powder. Let me rephrase that, we spent a lot of time digging other people’s stuck snowmobiles out of the powder. (Turning my snowmobile upside-down does not count. That was easy to fix and didn’t require superhuman strength.) Some members of our group were more adventurous (i.e. foolish) when it came to taking their snowmobiles places they shouldn’t go. One particularly steep field seized almost every machine. Jason and I had to help push out mobile after mobile, none of which were ours. Boy was it tiring!
The scenes we whizzed through were lovely. They ranged from open meadows, to hills covered with aspens almost as white as the snow, to pine packed knolls.
I can’t say that my day was incident free though. In fact, I definitely get the distinctive prize for the worst accident. You know those nightmares where you’re aware that something awful is about to happen to you but you are powerless to prevent it? Well, I had a real-life bout of that dreadful helplessness. Our group was cruising on the trail probably a tad faster than they should have been. (I prefer to go at a slower and safer speed when traversing wooded areas but some members of our bunch were a little impatient.) I came to a section of the road that angled right and steered my machine accordingly only it didn’t turn right but instead went left. What the what? Despite my forceful attempts to get it to go right, there was just no deterring it from its left bound course. A couple seconds later my opposite-than-planned direction of travel abruptly ended when I hit a tree. Although I’d like to think I braked or at least let off the gas in the middle of this, I’m not entirely sure I did either. It happened too fast and I was too confused about why my snowmobile wouldn’t go the way it was supposed to. A second of puzzlement was long enough for that tree to find me. I doubt you could have done better on a machine that you were not accustomed to driving and that was doing precisely the reverse of what it was intended to do. Besides, it’s unlikely that braking for half a second would have made much of a difference in the outcome of this scenario; snowmobiles don’t stop on a dime unless that dime is the size of a football field.
I was frazzled after my impact but not loopy, at least not loopier than normal.
Even if I couldn’t fix everything in that second or two, I did do one thing brilliantly. When I hit that trunk I held onto my handlebars with a death grip that would have made Darth Vader proud. Since I was going about 25 MPH and was thrown from my seat by the impact, that tight clasp was the only thing that preventing me from smacking the tree myself or being tossed into the woods. I came extremely close to striking the trunk as it was, the group of friends riding in back of me thought I had, but dang if those stubby hands of mine didn’t hold on for all that they’re worth. Thanks to their unexpected strength, I came away from the experience with nothing more than black-and-blue knees, a bump on my head where it collided with my helmet, a little whiplash, sore wrists, and some understandable sketchiness. (Plus, a $165 fee for a bent ski rod.) Thank you little feisty fingers!
Jim’s vehicle was the second one we rescued from powder oblivion.
My hubby, for reasons unknown, really cares about me. He leapt from his snowmobile while it was still moving the moment I collided with that poor aspen. Almost instantly he was at my side checking my pupils and lucidity. (He was convinced that I had gotten a concussion or worse from body slamming that tree, which I hadn’t hit.)
Shortly after I flipped my snowmobile, Fran flipped hers on the same hill.
What caused my snowmobile to suddenly get a rebellious mind of its own? Ice on the skis? Possession? Who knows. The guys at the rental shop did say that the snow conditions were just right for poor control and slow response time. You don’t say. I think I would count spontaneous oppositional travel as a little more than poor control. The mystery remains unsolved.
Jason, as always, was my favorite riding companion.
After our snow play, Jason and I treated everyone to dinner at the Spin Café, a yummy little joint we discovered last time we were in Heber. It was our small way of thanking our hosts. Everyone seemed to enjoy their meal and the housemade gelato was a hit. It sure was a hit with my stomach anyway.
The cabin we stayed at was spacious and comfortable.
More games awaited us when we returned to the cabin with full bellies. We got in a few rounds of Killer Oompi before some of the crew started losing Oompi oomph. Jim, Cindy, Jason, and I were the last ones conscious and playing. Which means no one else got to see Jason as a pony or Jim’s upper thigh revealed. Their loss.
Jason lost a couple rounds of Killer Oompi. For one of his penalties he had to prance around like a pony with Cindy on his back.
It was an amusing weekend. I could have done without the tree incident and I wouldn’t have minded pulling a few less snowmobiles out of powder potholes but such are the hazards of fun. Plus, I guess we freeloaders need to earn our keep somehow. Many thanks to the kind souls that let me and Jason tag along on this winter escape; we would be happy to strain our muscles heaving your hefty snowmobiles from the mire anytime.
We had such a great time last January chilling with our friends on the slopes of Powder Mountain that we decided to do a repeat this year. While we again stayed at our timeshare just 5 or 6 miles from the resort, which was lusciously convenient, other details of our outing changed. First, we had to increase the size of our suite to the largest available because our group had become heftier. Second, this time “Powder Mountain” was an accurate description of our endpoint. Yes, our trip was bigger and powderier than ever.
One could go any direction and find first tracks.
We planned this excursion a few months ago and crossed our fingers that the snow levels by mid-January would be adequate to justify its undertaking. It turns out we needn’t have worried on that account. An arctic storm amusingly referred to as “Gandalf” came into town just before our special weekend and dumped 24 inches of glistening heaven on Powder Mountain. Unfortunately, it also dumped a whole lot of that stuff on the roads we had to take to get there so Jason and I had a heck of a time reaching our destination. We ended up having to put on our snow chains just to travel the freeway, hence, there’s no way we would have survived the canyon climbs without those noisy nets. It took us twice as long as it should have to make it to our condo but that’s where my complaining about the precipitation ends.
Jacob cruised with me for a significant portion of the day until he was all tuckered out.
The deliciousness of the resort’s accumulation was worth our prolonged journey and then some. First tracks awaited us at every turn on those empty slopes. I hit that powder with such sweet abandon that I didn’t even notice I was traversing black diamonds. I thought nothing of the terrain’s steepness because I only had eyes for the sweet stuff. About here, in the midst of my blabber concerning the treacherous topography I obliviously kept to all day, one would expect the embarrassing details of some accidental meeting I had with the business end of the mountain. Alas, I do have a few humiliating stories to tell and they are even more disgraceful than you’d think. You see it wasn’t the sheer black regions, which were probably above my skill set, that caused me pain but the lift’s exit ramp. Yes, I had a shameful share of rookie mishaps, not all of which were entirely my fault mind you, and the worst of those left me with an exceptionally nasty bruise on my upper leg/rump region. How a little slip led to a particularly painful fall and the worst non-surgically-induced bruise I’ve ever had in my life who knows. All I know is that I don’t usually bruise much but currently my hiney is whiney.
The members of our group varied in ability and rides but we all had a terrific time.
Powder fields are supposed to be tricky but I was too busy salivating to remember to be tricked.
Good thing I don’t mind some discomfort, especially where the fluffy stuff is concerned, because my lack of lift coordination wasn’t the only problem aching up my life. My bad ankle, which had recently begun physical therapy, was in an unusually grumpy mood while boarding. I will cover my foot’s moody nature thoroughly in another post but for now let’s just say that it gave me much grief and I gave it much right back. However, in the end, it wasn’t lefty that drove me into the lodge 45 minutes before the resort closed but Gandalf and his sneaky wizard ways. That arctic storm didn’t just bring snow it brought frigid temperatures that only got up to about 10 degrees in the middle of the day. When the sun started going down we all began losing feeling in our extremities and things got miserable real fast. But regardless of my stinging hands, throbbing hip, and achy ankle I loved playing in the powder. It was a fantastic day of boarding! Snow, you hurt me over and over but I just don’t know how to quit you.
The sauna brought everyone together, some of us more than others.
Some of our group thought a roll in the snow would provide a nice intermission to the sauna. I was not among them.
After our cores had been chilled to a frosty slush, jumping in the condo’s hot tub or sauna sounded like a mighty good plan. I opted for the sauna because the outdoor hot tub was little too out for me. There’s nothing quite like 134 degrees of sauna swelter to melt your inner glacier. Ahhh.
We were exhausted from riding but that didn’t stop us from gaming.
Once we could tell we had ten toes again, we spent the greater part of the evening playing games. We competed in Sticheln, Saboteur, Seven Wonders, and Pandemic with only a little sleep to interrupt our rounds. Thanks to the open loft where our bed was located, and where the echoes of the entire world seemed to mingle, Jason and I didn’t have much sleep interrupt the gaming whether we were playing or not.
My bruise is roughly the same size as my hand and for days it was a dense patch of deep purple splotches. This picture doesn’t really do its grotesqueness justice.
Yes, Jason and I got little rest over that weekend but we did get sweet dreams of soft powder. We didn’t get privacy but we did get entertainment. Our weekend getaway was chaotic and rowdy but it was a trip worth repeating. I just hope Gandalf joins us again next time. He was the best guest we’ve ever had; what he left all over the ground was a whole lot better than half eaten cookies.
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