Weston smells like a pile of manure right now. I'm blaming the geese. My postage stamp of snow grows ever smaller... but at least it was too icy to groom into sugar, so we actually had some decent skiing last night.
I was so proud of my CSU kids. They've got crap for snow to train on, the birds are singing and the joggers are out there shirtless but they've got championships coming up and they're staying darn focused. At practice last night they were so mature; I just told them the workout and then we did it. I almost thought I was coaching a college team, not a gaggle of highschoolers; hopefully they'll all get up north and actually go skiing this weekend...
This weekend the J2 Championships are going on up at Jackson. I'm coaching, at least on the classic day, maybe I should change that to: I'm Jamie's wax-bitch for the day. Hopefully it will just be straight rain with no snow or other wintry-mix-crap thrown in. Sunday is the ski to the clouds race, at Great Glen and then finishing up the auto road. Hopefully they'll let us ski down it, too.
This weather gets me thinking about my bike. More specifically, about riding it. When this thought turns to painful reality, I'm not sure I'll like it, but daydreaming about riding bikes in southern France isn't half bad... Because I'm bored, and I bet you are too if you're reading this, check out some of the pictures from our trip there a couple summers ago.
I love this shot. It seems so sinister, in a way, as though the bikes have been put in jail. If only there was a lock in view, it would complete that imagery.
The general vista.
The ochre mines in Roussillon. turned my feet all orange.
The general look of the roads.