Parallel Universes
(From Bend, Oregon)
“Step, baby, step,” I whisper to myself as I fly down the hill on my cross country skis, which are skinny skis attached to high-tech boots. The snow is the consistency of a poorly blended frozen drink that I had 3 days ago in Quepos, Costa Rica and my skis make a deafening noise.
I am training for my ski race next week so I need to work the downhills, to step and not snow plough. But I cannot seem to get my legs to want to take the hill, to step through the corners, and so I plough … making me slide sideways more than straight down. Making the grinding noise from the snow seem even louder.I have skied no less than 50 times this year, somewhere out on this course,and today the whole thing seems oddly familiar.
Having spent the last month in Costa Rica, the idea of snow, cool temperatures, and high desert have a black and white contrast. But the oddity is not really in the contrast, but more in the realization that this world I live in DID not stop while I was gone. This world ran parallel to mine … and now that I am back, I realize it was not frozen in time.
Things changed while I was gone … a new coffee shop is opening up, my husband almost finished our new bathroom, and spring temperatures have melted the snow down to just this icy patch at the top of the mountain.
I think about my last night in Costa Rica, of a live band at a huge local bar that was only two blocks from my house. Loud Latin music with huge packed dance floors of people dancing … amazing dancers with sweat-soaked bodies pressed against each other. The lead singer screamed out words that were impossible for me to understand. She could roll her “Rs” into the music in the most incredible way.
After skiing, I head out on my horse, Punch, across rocky, desert terrain. We have q
uite the parade on our ride, with two large dogs tagging along and my girlfriend on her horse. The ride is incredibly dusty, with the wind blowing up large dust storms as the horses kick up the dirt.
We are at the bottom of a canyon when I spot a new potential route up the mountain and I challenge my girlfriend to the ride up the very steep, rocky hillside. “It looks ok to me,” I say with a bit of anxiety.
We head the horses up and soon we find out exactly why there are no other horse tracks on the hillside. The rocks are sharp and some of them are loose. Punch flinches and I urge him up the hill.
“Yes,” I think, “Better to keep going up then to go back down.”
I can feel the large animal hesitate and choose his footing carefully. His legs begin to shake a bit and I press my legs into his sides and whisper, “Come on baby, you can do it.”
I pull my feet a little out of the stirrups and just push the tips of my toes down. I begin to survey the area… For the entire ride up the hill, I watch my horse carefully. If he starts to fall, I will have to make a very hard decision; should I jump off before he lands on me, or stay with him and hope he recovers. He's close to the world's largest horse so this is not an easy decision.
“Come on baby,” I say again and I think of how the situation is similar to that of a fighter pilot with a badly damaged plane, making the decision if he can save the plane or should he eject now.
I am training for my ski race next week so I need to work the downhills, to step and not snow plough. But I cannot seem to get my legs to want to take the hill, to step through the corners, and so I plough … making me slide sideways more than straight down. Making the grinding noise from the snow seem even louder.I have skied no less than 50 times this year, somewhere out on this course,and today the whole thing seems oddly familiar.
Having spent the last month in Costa Rica, the idea of snow, cool temperatures, and high desert have a black and white contrast. But the oddity is not really in the contrast, but more in the realization that this world I live in DID not stop while I was gone. This world ran parallel to mine … and now that I am back, I realize it was not frozen in time.
Things changed while I was gone … a new coffee shop is opening up, my husband almost finished our new bathroom, and spring temperatures have melted the snow down to just this icy patch at the top of the mountain.
I think about my last night in Costa Rica, of a live band at a huge local bar that was only two blocks from my house. Loud Latin music with huge packed dance floors of people dancing … amazing dancers with sweat-soaked bodies pressed against each other. The lead singer screamed out words that were impossible for me to understand. She could roll her “Rs” into the music in the most incredible way.
After skiing, I head out on my horse, Punch, across rocky, desert terrain. We have q
uite the parade on our ride, with two large dogs tagging along and my girlfriend on her horse. The ride is incredibly dusty, with the wind blowing up large dust storms as the horses kick up the dirt.We are at the bottom of a canyon when I spot a new potential route up the mountain and I challenge my girlfriend to the ride up the very steep, rocky hillside. “It looks ok to me,” I say with a bit of anxiety.
We head the horses up and soon we find out exactly why there are no other horse tracks on the hillside. The rocks are sharp and some of them are loose. Punch flinches and I urge him up the hill.
“Yes,” I think, “Better to keep going up then to go back down.”
I can feel the large animal hesitate and choose his footing carefully. His legs begin to shake a bit and I press my legs into his sides and whisper, “Come on baby, you can do it.”
I pull my feet a little out of the stirrups and just push the tips of my toes down. I begin to survey the area… For the entire ride up the hill, I watch my horse carefully. If he starts to fall, I will have to make a very hard decision; should I jump off before he lands on me, or stay with him and hope he recovers. He's close to the world's largest horse so this is not an easy decision.
“Come on baby,” I say again and I think of how the situation is similar to that of a fighter pilot with a badly damaged plane, making the decision if he can save the plane or should he eject now.
Punch staggers to the top and then stops for a brief moment. If he could talk, he would say to me, “I tried to tell you that it wasn’t a good idea.”I lean forward and pat him on the neck. I am glad to be at the top. I look out across the vast desert, with rocks and dry brush.
I wonder if tonight in Quepos, the band with the girl who can really roll her Rs into the hot Latin music will be at the local club. If the peoplewill be dancing until 2, 3, or 4 o’clock in the morning on a packed and sweaty dance floor. And if there will be any tourists like me … taking inthe show with total amazement and little understanding of what’s really happening.
Ah, our parallel universe….
