East Coasters are said to like their Celtic music. Prairie folk are said to like their curling. People in these parts are said to be fond of, um…skiing, right?
Apparently, I’m an anomaly.
The West Coast is in my blood and my roots and my genes and all that. The T-bar, not so much.
Sure, I tried it once, oh, way back in the day. I lost a pole. I lost a glove. I lost control and flew frantically down the side of a mountain, slamming into a youngster practising his snow plow.
That was it. Sure, I continued to visit ski resorts when I moved well into adulthood, but I bypassed the slopes in favour of establishments that had fireplaces and cozy couches and Irish coffee on offer.
That’s my kind of skiing.
The other kind, well, can only be undertaken when there’s snow on the ground, and snow is cold and wet can get in the top of yours boots and underneath your mittens.
Pretty? Sure, it’s borderline pretty, but only when you’re indoors sipping on the Irish coffee.
That’s me, anyway. I am a proud West Coaster. But I do not like to ski.
West Coasters are also fond of sailing — or so the thinking goes among many folks I know. Again, I must be a West Coast imposter. This is something I also tried, very much back in the day.
The boat belonged to a friend. C’mon, he said. We’ll go out for the afternoon. You’re gonna love it.
At first, it was pleasant enough. The day was warm and the ocean was glistening.
But then the friend insisted on moving away from the shore and raising the sails. The boat picked up speed and began to list to one side.
“Isn’t this fabulous?” called the friend from the front of the vessel.
I suggested we issue a mayday.
I like water, I really do, especially when it’s in a bottle or a bathtub. But a sailboat, it seemed to me, is best enjoyed when it’s tied up in a marina on a lovely summer day. You know, when you’re able to relax on the deck and catch a few rays.
That’s my kind of sailing.
And so it goes. This West Coast gal loves the mountains and sea. But you can keep your sailboats and skis.
