It was a gorgeous day at Giants Ridge.  The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and there was even a light dusting of powder gracing the hill.  It was one of those days just meant for making turns.

Yet there I was.  Standing on the side of the hill - wearing REGULAR BOOTS on my feet - holding a clipboard like some backup quarterback.  “Thwack, thwack, thwack,” the next skier came charging down the course, smacking the gates aside.  I paid close attention, making sure they were turni...
Continue reading ...