The Idiot found it impossible to ignore the allure of fresh snow, groomed slopes and exceptional skiing conditions on Mount Shasta in Northern California during a sunny weekday in January. He exchanged his hiking shoes for ski boots and headed for the hill where he learned to ski in the 1960s.
Who could resist skiing on Mount Shasta — about an hour’s drive north of The Idiot’s base camp in Redding, CA — on a sunny weekday afternoon?
Not The Idiot.
(Photo: Renae Tobert)
Mount Shasta seen from Dunsmuir, CA, where The Idiot dropped into the Cornerstone Bakery & Cafe to carb up.
The Idiot was among the first to arrive at the Mount Shasta Ski Park where a day pass for a responsible senior citizen is a reasonable $32.
Call it MedTrekking on skis.
The Idiot seemed to have the slopes, shadows and social action on Mount Shasta all to himself.
Choosing a run in the Mount Shasta Ski Park.
The Idiot and his shadow (Did you know that an anagram of SKI SLOPES is SKI POLES?).
There were no skiers going down this run before The Idiot and…
…no skiers Following The Idiot down the mountain.
As he approached this jump, The Idiot was reminded of his most painful and embarrassing moment on skis.
He was with his kids at Serre Chevalier in the French Alps in the early ’90s and told them:
“Let me show you how I used to take jumps when I was a kid at Mount Shasta.”
The Idiot’s approach to a jump not unlike this one was precisely textbook and his takeoff was perfectly uplifting.
But his landing was disastrous. He dislocated his right shoulder and was out for the season.
His kids still haven’t skied at Shasta but they laugh every time he mentions it.
Naturally The Idiot took time out for a garden burger and slipped into après-ski mode in the late afternoon.
Taking a break from the action in the snow.
Changing gear for après-ski.
What’s next?
SkiTrekking the Mediterranean.
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