As the bus pulled up to Clearfork Ski Resort, the John Glenn Ski members bounced in their seats like Tickle-Me-Elmo's. On some of the hills, small patches of green could be seen fighting for air. Some students were disappointed at the sight of this. Most of the hills were strong with snow and could keep the green suffocated beneath it. The trees surrounding the slopes looked like bright green gumdrops. From the parking lot, the skiers and snowboarders looked like ants sliding down a mound of vanilla ice cream.
One hundred eight 14 to 18 year old students hopped off the bus and unloaded their skies, poles and bags. They filtered through the cars like dots on an Etch-a-Sketch to the rental house. Those who had their own skis went straight to the locker room to suit up. The others stood in line to get their equipment.
The rental and locker rooms were made entirely by wood. Both large rooms were connected by a hallway also made of wood. In the rental room, patient skiers lined the walls waiting their turn. A big brown desk sat in the back of the room. A dark haired receptionist took the names and the sizes of the skiers. Separated by, still more wood, was the equipment closet. In it stood the skis and poles the children waited for. As the resort employees handed the skiers their tools for the day, they marched into the locker room. There were two sets of square lockers on opposite walls with two benches in front of them. The two changing rooms were in the back of the room by the coke machines. Most students changed where they stood. As the students pulled on their layers of long johns and sweaters, they all looked like winter sumo wrestlers. One by one, they swam through the sea of puffy coats to the door in the back.
Opening that door was like Dorothy arriving in Munchkin City. The snow was blinding. The students squinted to look around. Children of 7 or 8 slid by, smiling like elves who knew a secret. Middle aged women with too much make-up and hair much to pretty for skiing huffed and puffed by as if they were on a mission. There were even tipsy men who staggered out from the lounge and fumbled their way into their skis.
Directly in front of them were three long, white challenges. The brave decided to take their chances on the big slopes and waddled over to the ski lift. Others thought practice was in order. The smaller, not so steep, "bunny" hills were right for them. Between the "bunny" hills and the ski slopes was a wooden building with a sign that read, "Clearfork Meeting House." Beside it was the ski lift which looked like great prehistoric birds carrying the adventurers up the mountain.
Zachary Hugebeck had been in ski club for two years. As he zipped around in the snow, his red shaggy hair waved in curls in the wind. His freckles danced on his crimson cheeks. He reminded me of Raggedy-Andy. "This is the closest to flying you can get with your feet on the ground!" he beamed.
He and his tight knit group of friends were the kind to take full advantage of the steep slopes. They glided over to the lift and rode it up the mountain. Once at the top, they quickly made their way down again. Between the top and the bottom, there was lots of time for horseplay. The boys tried to out do each other with tricks and spraying snow on each other with their skis. They made each trip down like the winter X-games.
At the sight of this, Bill Hartmeyer, the director and founder of the club, shook his head and laughed. "I really enjoy teaching and watching the students learn and love to ski." he once said. Mr. Hartmeyer starting skiing 14 years ago and started the John Glenn Ski Club one year later. He believes skiing is a recreational skill where you compete against yourself to get better. He is also glad it gives students something to do on Saturday night.
Around 6 o'clock it began to get dark. With the stadium lights illuminating to blanket of snow, this winter wonderland seemed even more magical. New flakes were beginning to fall. It looked like fairy dust falling from the sky. The skiers carried on with new found energy.
"All John Glenn students, please report to your bus!" the loudspeaker boomed. Most of the students made their way to change into dry clothes. The die hards stayed until the last call like alcoholics needing one more before they go home. On the bus, the skiers shared their experiences with their friends. Some bragged about the great jump they had made. And of course, quite a few slept the whole way home. Either way, none of them could wait to do it again next week.
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