Death by Snow, Anyone?

There is a thin line marking the often blurry demarcation between punishment and entertainment. The ancient Celts had devised a form of tortuous punishment for their worst villains, many of the aspects of which are too gruesome to consider in detail on these pages. Needless to say, it included exposure to the elements, subjugation of the senses to unexpected and unpredictable forces, and, in the worst cases, large amounts of processed cheese. They called this fate worse than death “Snowboarding.”

In these United States, however, snowboarding is often a form of entertainment, even for its participants. The risk of death and serious injury notwithstanding, many Americans seem to thrive on exploring the elements, especially in their extreme form and, as any 6 Flags employee will tell you, subjugating their innards to forces capable of making them outards. There is clearly only one reason for this: the ancient Celts were sissies.

So, in keeping with the highest traditions of American foolhardiness, I recently went with my sister-in-law Jane to see what this “snowboarding” stuff was all about. The location that we chose (since it was chosen for us) was the Cataloochee Ski Resort in the Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina, which are neither great nor smoky. It is worth noting, however, that the letters of Cataloochee can be rearranged to spell “A Cochlea Toe.” Now, yes, I realize that, in the informed opinions of serious injury experts everywhere, there are better options for risking one’s life. One could, for example, go snowboarding in downtown Miami. But hey, when you live in the land of Sherman’s March to the Sea, one’s options are severely limited.

Neither Jane nor I had been snowboarding before, and upon arriving at the ski resort, we began to suspect that the mountain which rose before us was more than capable of causing death or, worse, serious injury. So, being the rational and sensible Americans that we are, we immediately turned our vehicle around and located a community center where we could enjoy safer forms of entertainment, such as checkers. Ha, ha! Of course not! We mustered, from deep within ourselves that “can-do” spirit Americans have come to be infamous for, and determined that we could risk our lives just as thoroughly as everyone else around us. They of course, were all thinking the same thing, too.

We determined that it might be helpful to take a training class, so that, as beginners, we could educate ourselves as to the most appropriate ways to fall down the mountain. In the snowboarding community, there is no greater faux pas than falling down incorrectly. However, when we found the line to sign up for the training classes, we discovered that the line also included persons wishing to access ticketing, general information, the women’s restroom, and the local department of motor vehicles. I suspect that, if the line had been straightened out, it might have stretched all the way from the Ski Resort to the Atlanta airport. After a few minutes of standing around in the same place, we determined that we would just have to take to the mountain ourselves and figure it out on our own. This, incidentally, is also a trait for which Americans have come to be infamous.

And figure it out, we did, I think. Despite not losing our lives, or even sustaining serious injuries, we did figure out how to fall down the mountain, sometimes at a very high rate of speed. In fact, I would even venture to say that, at times, it was fun. I enjoyed it; I just might consider doing it again sometime. As Uncle Hub astutely pointed out, “You’ve got to die of something.” No offense to my ancient Celt ancestors.

So, if you ever find yourself in Maggie Valley, North Caroline during the winter months (note to this blog’s southern readers: December through March), forget the shuffleboard courts down the street, grab your snowboard, and prepare to risk your life in proper American style.