A. and I drove to Mammoth on Thursday afternoon for our first overnight date since C. was born. We drove along the Eastern Sierras on virtually empty roads as the sun cast shadows on the mountains. When we arrived early evening, we both bought shiny new ski pants, drank beer (A.) and a white Russian (me) at a buzzing ski bar and then got the most delicious Thai food we’d ever had at Thai’d Up (A. kept calling it Thai Me Up).
The next morning, we hit the slopes and it was a bluebird day. I skied for the first time in 13 years (I switched from snowboarding because I figure I won’t want to risk a hard fall when I’m 60). And it was the first time either of us had been on the slopes in a couple of years. By early afternoon, I was cruising so fast I could hear the wind whistling through my red ski coat. And by 3 p.m., both of our legs were mush. I was so shaky, I barely made it down the last slope.
On the way home, we stopped in Bishop for a frothy latte and a dip in the art supply store (I bought watercolors!). And then on we drove, back along the Sierras, and we studied the peaks we plan to explore (including Mt. Whitney) during our stay in the desert.