The Red Gondola

We were decorating the tree a few weeks ago and came across an ornament of a red gondola that we bought last year in Lutsen. Chet's more sentimental than me and thought it would be a good idea to buy it so we could always remember that part of the trip. That was the year I realized I don't like gondolas.

We were able to get away last winter for our 5 year anniversary and headed north to Lutsen. We rented a condo that was right on the ski hill; we could strap on our skis right outside the front door and hit the slopes. I had always been a snowboarder but broke my tailbone too many times and decided I would be better at skiing. Was I ever wrong.

We hit the slopes first thing in the morning and I started barreling down the hill after Chet. I soon realized I didn't know what I was doing and started to snowplow. I snowplowed down that first hill. And the second hill. And the third, fourth and fifth and sixth hill. Chet decided we better hit the bunny hill so I can relearn how to ski. After having some toddlers show me up on the bunny hill, I had had enough. I spied the red gondola that spanned Lutsen and thought it would be fun to take it to the top of the mountain to have lunch. We waited in line and I was giddy with excitement.

My excitement quickly faded when I realized that this gondola was not only hanging onto a wire by a thread, but it swayed to and fro over the not yet frozen river below. It also frequently stopped, leaving us rocking back and forth, many feet high over boulders and freezing water. About halfway up the mountain, I started to panic. Chet held me down to prevent me from jumping out the door. I didn't need to be held down as I wasn't that dumb to actually jump but it made me feel better anyway.

We got to the top (finally!) and I breathed a sigh of relief. That is, until I realized I still had to get down the mountain. I had two choices; ski or take the gondola back. Looking at the ski map, it was all intermediate hills going down. Looking at the gondola, I had no choice. I had to ski.

I did make it back in one piece and we headed for the bunny hill again. I had several victories, including making it down without snowplowing and stopping without wiping out. I went to bed that night excited for the next day of skiing, now that I knew what I was doing.

The next morning, I showered. Shocking, I know. Chet was at the sink, putting his contacts in. I reached for my towel on the towel bar and before I knew it, I found myself on the floor. The towel bar and towel were on top of me as well as the shower curtain and curtain rod. I had bashed my shin on the edge of the tub. As I laid tangled in the shower curtain, Chet stood there, not sure if he should laugh or help me. He helped me to the bed and I realized I had a large goose egg on my shin. I iced it, but that didn't help much.

When it was time to head out for another day of skiing, I strapped my boots on and realized that my ski boot put direct pressure on my goose egg. What a grand day this would be. Now I couldn't ski and we had to check out of our room by noon.

I sent Chet off to hit the double black diamonds and I cozied up in the chalet for the day, watching kids younger than Avery whiz down the hills.

Now every Christmas when we decorate the tree, I'll be reminded of the day I learned that I don't like gondolas.