Went out cross country skiing at lunch today. It was a beautiful day, sunny with good company. Unfortunately, my ski pants, my pole and my bottom did not fare as well as the rest of me.

We have this series of trails literally outside our door and through the woods. One of the trails is my nemesis since it is rather steep downhill over a water hazard (which by the way does in fact contain rocks and sticks) and then immediately makes a sharp right turn. It is usually okay on days later in the winter when there are feet of snow on top of it because the water has frozen and it has been packed down from use. Today, however, was not that day. I splendidly slid, almost navigating the water hazard, but alas, not to be and my hipbone thankfully cushioned somewhat by the padding of my butt met the water and an evidently nice sized rock or two and some sticks. While collecting myself from the wreckage, I noticed that I had broken the basket on the bottom of my ski pole. Literally right off the pole. So now, armed with one ski pole and one stick (which would have worked wonderfully for poking out an eye or picking up litter on the side of the highway with the prison patrol) I set off again. Being the litigious person that I am (yeah, right) I decided to file a complaint with the trail master. Lousy trail grooming, open water hazards, what was this crap? (Mind you that my own klutzy nature is not at all to blame here – although a Tammy falls across East Wallingford tour was mentioned by a certain someone whose name shall not be spoken). During all of this spectacle of sportsmanship on my part, mind you, the trail master was about ten feet in front of me (and had incidentally navigated the water hazard hill sharp turn thing just fine, thank you) so the yelling and complaining was not all that difficult to do.

We got back home and when I took off my (new last season) snowpants, I realized that they had suffered more damage than my bruised butt and explained why the seat of my pants was wet. Poor ski pants, poor pole, poor me. Bad Trail Master. Bad, Bad Trail Master! I expect better trail grooming in the future…. and less laughing.