So you're pulling out your gear by now, checking edges, getting pre-season tunes. You're going to pick up your pass, some new socks, and those new bibs you've been lusting after since last season.
While you're at it, pick up a helmet.
That picture over there is of the back of my helmet. There's a split in it running from the back clear to the crown — not some hairline crack in the foam, but a split clear through the plastic outside layer.
How did it happen? I couldn't tell you. But had I not been wearing that helmet, there's a chance I wouldn't be around to not remember.
It was one of those not-ideal days in January, and we were in need of a snowstorm. The snow was hard, visibility was poor, but, hell, it was a Tuesday, so why not go up for a few runs? I was snowboarding with the CEO of this fine corporation (he on skis), and we had a few unambitious runs before stopping for lunch. A cloudbank rolled in while we ate, so afterwards we headed to tree-lined runs where, we reasoned, we'd be able to see a little better.
But no luck. The fog was just too thick. We stopped at a lift, and I said, "This should be either safe or fun, and it isn't either." So we called it a day, and headed down the mountain the easy way. This was Aspen Mountain, so there really isn't an easy way, but it was a way we'd ridden hundreds of times before.
And then, in my memory, it's just flashes: stopping at the top of Little Nell, some mid-mountain slush, slowing to check on a woman in a blue one-piece who had fallen, and then pulling up next to the deck of the Ajax Tavern. Then realizing slowly that I don't feel very good, that I have no idea where I am, that maybe I'd had a crash.
I spot the CEO there on the deck, and am surprised to see him. Then we're sitting in the Starbucks on Gondola Plaza, and I'm arguing with him, telling him that we can't possibly be in Aspen, because Aspen doesn't have a Starbucks. And then we're looking at a foot-long crack in my helmet, and deciding to go see ski patrol. Medical assessments and CT scans follow. And then two weeks off the mountain for the concussed.
It was a sketchy day on a blue run I knew like the back of my hand. And I might have split open my head instead of that helmet.
Accidents don't only happen when you plan for them.
Put a lid on it.
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