Heres a short story I had to write for english class, hope you like it. I "borrowed' a couple of themes from some of the short stories Cyrus Shahrad had written for Transworld. Anyways, here goes
A Misty Upbringing
Growing up in the mountains, one finds little compassion. The mountains are harsh, cold and unforgiving. One then has to find comfort and familiarity with anything possible. Maybe it is the high altitude getting to your head, but one feels the need to latch tight to anything possible. For my small group of friends, we found ourselves guarding the secret of Old Priest Grade Road.
You see, our local town, Wolf Creek, was a ski town. Everything revolved around the local resort, also named Wolf Creek. The resort had easy access, right off of highway 420. Unfortunately, on weekends, this meant that everybody from the Bay Area who wanted to going skiing for the day, chose our mountain for its easy drive. Traffic became a complete gridlock sometimes, and often we wouldn’t find ourselves on the hill till 2 or 3 in the afternoon.
It was then that we found Old Priest Grade Road. We had searched in vain for years to try to find a shortcut to no avail. One day however, we took a wrong turn, and wound up on this certain road. It was quite possibly the skinniest little two lane road I had ever seen. At some points it shrank only wide enough for one car to pass. It wound back and forth, becoming more and more shrouded in mist as it went, up through McGregor’s pass. No matter how clear that particular day was, it was always so misty one couldn’t see more than 10 yards. When we finally reached the end, we found it dropped us right into the parking lot of Wolf Creek ski resort, completely bypassing all of the hideous traffic. From that day forth, whenever we had even the slightest suspicion that traffic may be unfavorable, we hightailed it up that old worn road.
Within a few weeks, we knew damn near every inch of that road. Every single crack and pothole was seared into our memories. We flew up that long stretch of concrete, ten miles an hour over the limit, music blaring. I always founds myself behind the wheel, sunk deep into my sheepskin seat. Jeff generally sat himself in the passenger seat, and spent most of the time spent driving to the mountain trying find the perfect song for the occasion in the pile of CD’s found in the glove box. In the back Matt and Sam bickered back and forth about some insignificant matter or playing a game such as Ro-Sham-Bo to pass the time. The rubber wheels of the 4runner gripped the road and delivered us our destination unscathed on a weekly basis.
Slowly we began to find, that every time we ventured upon that unusual road, something odd would happen that day on the mountain. Nothing big, nothing major, just something out of the ordinary, something unexpected. The first time we ever took Old Priest Grade Road, we didn’t leave the house until eleven. We had all figured the parking lot was going to be a nightmare, but when we arrived a spot opened right next the gondola. The next week, after a particularly nasty crash, Jeff found a ten dollar bill on the ground while crawling away from his wreckage. Weeks flew by, and every time we descended upon that treacherous road through McGregor’s pass, we found our day to be a little bit brighter. One day, Sam, being a poor ski bum, found that his old boots no longer fit his feet, and opted to rent a pair for the day. He really hit it off with the girl who ran the rental register, and later became her boyfriend. The next week, Matt suggested we should take a few more runs off the backside. We were all tired, but reluctantly agreed. On the way up the lift, we spotted two black bears. Fast-forward a few months, and a late season spring session in the terrain park led us to meet the park manager, who was very keen on our suggestions, which were almost all used the following year. It never failed, every single time we took that road, every single time.
It’s been nearly ten years now since we had our last day riding together. It seemed all at once everybody decided to begin their real lives. Jeff had left to what he called "The Next Step" by moving to the city to pursue a career as a businessman. Matt and Sam (who had since broken up with his girlfriend) had together opened up a small chain of struggling restaurant. Last time I had spoken to either of them they were debating closing a few locations down in order to make budget. I was the only one to remain in Wolf Creek, still clinging as tight as I could to the mountain dream. I worked nights as the night manager at a local hotel, and doing everything in my power to pay the bills and still get to go riding everyday.
I came home late one night, threw my keys on the table, and turned on the television. The local news channel was doing its nightly report. Uninterested I glanced back to the table and my eyes fell onto an old dusty photograph. It was the one we had all taken on our last day together on the mountain. Everybody looked so bittersweet. It was at that moment I heard it. I had almost forgotten the television was still on, and the local news channel was covering a breaking story.
"Highway 420, will be closed from March 3rd till March 10th, for special maintenance involving its being rerouted through McGregor’s pass along the previous route of that of Old Priest Grade Road." They were going to be demolishing Old Priest Grade Road.
I couldn’t believe it, I kept repeating the words out loud. The last link to my youth, my free-thinking younger self. It was being destroyed. My first reaction was to reunite the gang, to take that one last trip up that sketchy, long, road. The road that had brought us so many memories.
In the past, I had numerous times to get a reunion going. Always though, everybody was busy. A big trial, opening a new location, always too swamped, never able to slip away for the weekend. This time though, when I called, it was different.
"Hey, how’s it going, long time no see."
"Seriously, what’s going on."
"Nothing really, but listen, they’re going to re-route highway 420...up through McGregor’s pass. Their closing Old Priest Grade Road."
"...I’ll be there."
We all met up on a Friday night. The road was scheduled for demolition on Sunday ,and Saturday was to be its last day open. All night long we reminisced, caught up on things, and before long it felt like nobody had ever left Wolf Creek. Saturday morning came, and we all piled into the 4runner, which I had kept running strong through all these years. Off we sped, and within minutes we were back onto that narrow stretch of concrete. Still ten miles an hour over the limit with the stereo on full blast, our car disappeared into the mist.
We had to buy tickets once we arrived, since nobody had a season pass anymore. We stepped into the gondola, and we all sat silent, secretly wondering to ourselves what events this day would bring. The gondola arrived in the station and we stepped off. The rest of the day was spent laughing, smiling, high-fiving, and having what was quite possibly the best day of snowboarding we had ever experienced. We rode until they closed the lifts down on us, and our car was the last one in the parking lot. However, nothing out of the ordinary had happened all day. Slowly we packed up our gear, somewhat disappointed, and climbed back into the 4runner. We were determined to be the last ones to ever drive on Old Priest Grade Road. I pulled onto it, slowly taking a deep breath. I glanced to the right, and watched Jeff pop in a CD. I hit the accelerator, and off we went, faster than ever and never looking back.
Jeff, Matt, and Sam all left that night, claiming they had to get back to work. We said our good-bye’s, wondering when would see each other again. After seeing them off, I laid down on my couch and began to ponder everything that was around me. I stood up, feeling my bones creak and groan, realizing I wasn’t twenty anymore. I realized that my youth was behind me, and that I had to begin the infamous "Next Stage" Jeff spoke of. My phone began ringing, and slowly I answered it.
"Hello?"
"Yes, Is this Mr. Doe?"
"Yes"
"Mr Doe, we would like to offer you a promotion. You would be general manager of our new hotel opening in the city. You would have to move of course, but would you like a few days to consider it?
"I’ll take it.".
