Powder Vroom

"But now you have us," I say. "Besides, you ride like a dream."
She does, and that purple jacket is tres, tres OLBAT. As for Carol, she has a "ripping carve," according to a man half her age who has just flown by. As for me, I have become quite the free rider, absorbing big hunks of powder with my fluid knee action in a style that recalls Mikhail Baryshnikov and Amelia Earhart. At the same time.

"Yeah, but something's weird with your shoulders," Carol tells me.
"No, it's her knees. They don't bend enough," Joanne says.
"Like she's sticking her butt out?"
"Yeah, that's it. You know what we're saying, Robin, right?"

Oh. Yeah. But, so? For an old bat like me, snowboarding is most therapeutic from the neck up. Every Wednesday morning, I continue to go through the list of excuses--no snow, no time, a slight reduction in the urge to avoid real life. And every Wednesday evening, I drive home completely restored to sanity. I sing along with the car radio, loud.

I particularly like the curves in the road. I pretend I'm riding them on my snowboard.