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Ski weekend


dinneR

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14 minutes ago, Longjohn said:

Did you ski down that on your cross country skis?

That would be terrifying. I have some downhill skis. My top speed on my Nordic skis was 10 mph. They are just 47 mm wide and do not have metal edges, so turning is challenging. My downhill skis are 90 mm under foot with metal edges. My top speed was 37 mph. 

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1 hour ago, denniS said:

And we stopped by the petting zoo.

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I hope there's a car between you and the bison.

When my dad died in 1992, the best recent picture we had to show the undertaker was a screencap of a video I took with the Buffalo Herd in Custer State Park, SD.  I was asked, "What was between you two and the buffalo?"

Dad was standing on the ground, but in the open doorway of my car and I was on the driver's side.  There was a big bull who began moving toward us about 30 feet to the left of the picture and we jumped in the car.

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11 hours ago, denniS said:

But they are so cute.

I worked for a doctor that raised exotic animals. He had a herd of bison and his breeding Bull was a grand champion he bought at auction. His name was Clyde. Whenever I was working inside the pasture Clyde followed me around. The other bison didn’t let me get near them but Clyde did. I’ve had people driving by stop their cars and warn me that I had a bull behind me.

I also had a female ostrich that had a crush on me. She got closer than Clyde. She was taller than me and she would sometimes get face to face with me while I was trying to work.

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What is so cool about skiing in GTNP is the quiet. All that you hear is the shushing of your skis. When you stop it is completely silent. This poem was in my inbox today.

 

The Snow Man

BY WALLACE STEVENS

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

 

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

 

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

 

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

 

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

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