Ski Lift Quotes

But I just couldn't seem to get excited about the fact that we were sorta having a date.I mean, he'd asked me to go skiing with him, and so here I was, and my heart should have been pounding. But it wasn't. I could have been going to the grocery store to pick up a bag of potatoes for all the thudding it was doing.

seemed like he wanted a beer in his dreams before he even woke up in the morning. What was that country song? “the beer I had for breakfast was so good, I had three more for dessert.

The problem with classical physics is that it ignores the law of uncertainty. I believe uncertainty isn’t only a state of the conscious mind – it is a constant force acting throughout the universe. Uncertainty is a physical and measurable force – I’m the first to discover

In 2018, the average US weekend window lift ticket price was $122.30. That’s thirty times greater than the $4.18 it was in 1965. Over the same half century, US disposable family income grew slightly less than threefold. That means the lift ticket price grew ten times faster than people’s ability to afford them.

The weight room is empty except for Peter. He’s at the bench press, lifting weights. When he sees me, he smiles. “Are you here to spot me?” He sits up and wipes sweat off his face with the collar of his T-shirt. My heart squeezes painfully. “I’m here to break up. To fake break up, I mean.” Peter does a double take. “Wait. What?” “There’s no need to keep it going. You got what you wanted, right? You saved face, and so did I. I talked to Josh, and everything’s back to normal with us again. And my sister will be home soon. So…mission accomplished.” Slowly he nods. “Yeah, I guess.” My heart is breaking even as I smile. “So okay, then.” With a flourish I whip our contract out of my bag. “Null and void. Both parties have hereby fulfilled their obligations to each other in perpetuity.” I’m just rattling off lawyer words. “You carry that around with you?” “Of course! Kitty’s such a snoop. She’d find it in two seconds.” I hold up the piece of paper, poised to rip it in half, but Peter grabs it from me. “Wait! What about the ski trip?” “What about it?” “You’re still coming, right?” I hadn’t thought of that. The only reason I was going to go was for Peter. I can’t go now. I can’t be a witness to Peter and Genevieve’s reunion, I just can’t. I want them to come back from the trip magically together again, and it will be like this whole thing was just something I dreamed up. “I’m not going to go.” His eyes widen. “Come on, Covey! Don’t bail on me now. We already signed up and gave the deposits and everything. Let’s just go, and have that be our final hurrah.” When I start to protest, Peter shakes his head. “You’re going, so take this contract back.” Peter refolds it and carefully puts it back in my bag. Why is it so hard to say no to him? Is this what it’s like to be in love with somebody?

Throughout high school, Ben strove to be as colorless as his room. He chose to blend in with the crowd, a popular white-bread crewneck group, with parents who summered in Nantucket and owned ski houses near mountains in Vermont. One Saturday night after returning from a movie with the happy-go-lucky girl he’d been seeing on and off, he told Harvey and me, in the family room reading newspapers, that he was going to come out in college. Neither of us was astonished, or even surprised. It was a relief to both of us. We had wondered for a long time. When we took Ben to college in Middletown, we watched the gay and lesbian groups chalk messages on the sidewalks at the top of the hill: Say hi to a bi. Give us a year and you’ll be queer. Have you told a parent you’re gay today? Ben was smiling. Ben and Harvey moved the station wagon out of a load zone, and I waited on a creaking swing in front of a building with the school flag, the American flag, and the state flag waving on top. Peace washed over me as though I had taken a pill for it. I wanted chalk. I had something important to say on the sidewalk: Have you told your son you’re happy for him today?

As it turns out, skiing trips are pretty bloody annoying anyway. It’s mostly about queuing, skiing. You queue to get your breakfast in the stupid wooden hotel, you queue to get on the minibus or find a taxi to take you to the stupid skiing place at the bottom of the stupid hill. You queue to buy a pass, which you lose later in the day and then you get down to the serious queuing, at the point where you get on the lift at the bottom of the mountain to take you to the top. This, technically, isn’t queuing, it’s something more akin to fighting, so I preferred this bit. You hang around in a big crowd on a sort of train platform. Except there are no tracks, just a big wire overhead. Eventually, the cable car device lumbers into view and disgorges a load of really annoying people with stupid smiles under their stupid hats on to the other side of the platform. The car never stops; it just swings around the bottom of the platform on a huge, horizontal wheel until it comes up the side on which you and several million Germans are loitering, ready to get on board. Then there is a really massive fight, lots of shouting, some vicious pushing and, the next thing you know, you’re on the cable car, face pressed to the frosted glass, staring through it at crying kids back on the platform, disappointed mothers and bereft lovers waving mournfully as the other half of their life is transported away on the carriage that someone, usually you, prevented them from getting on by elbowing them in the face and jabbing a ski pole into their groin. It’s really rather good fun. But only that part is fun; the rest of it is terrible.

Frost will ever hate the blossom, Set its hand against the flower, Seek to choke the songbird, Tempt snow from raindrops In the shower.   Fog will ever hate the sunshine, Set its breath against the light, Blind the keen-eyed traveler, Cloud the blue-skied day Into night.   If such enemies in nature be As frost and flower, fog and sun, Then lift your eyes and watch; Nature makes enemies For everyone.

Today I didn’t actually ski on anything other than the bunny slope, but at least I graduated from ski class.” She jerked her thumb at Leah. “Klutz over here has to take the class again tomorrow.” Leah wiggled her eyebrows, not at all offended. “You bet. Ian is such a hottie. He’s Australian and has the most delicious accent. I adore it. He promised to give me private lessons tomorrow if I don’t do any better.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I won’t do any better tomorrow.” “He’s that hot, huh?” “His presence melts snow.

A totally hot ski instructor,” Leah suddenly announced excitedly. “That’s what you need to take your mind completely off Brad Connor.” “How can a ski instructor be hot?” I asked. “His classroom is a snow-covered hill. He’s gotta be cold.” Allie rolled her eyes and Leah gave me a sharp look that said she was seriously contemplating throwing the snow she’d just scooped up at me.

Cupping a cheek in each hand, he lifted her back up to his desk and pressed his hips hard into hers. Her eyes were worried. "But people keep coming---" "The next person to come is going to be you," he said.

Breaking Everest by Stewart Stafford On this Everest of déjà vu, We broke up in avalanches, Rote tumbling and tedium, Dead stares at the bottom. Climbers phoning in motion, A poke for the All-Seeing Eye, Pack mules heaving baggage, Tense on the musical ski lifts. Even with three tiny travellers, That peak hosted no summits, Cast-off hairshirt strait-jackets, The wound-licking began afresh. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

The trip had been a dream for almost two decades, relegated to the back of the line behind an ever-growing list of responsibilities. Each passing moment brought a new list of reasons for putting it off. One day, Julie realized that if she didn’t do it now, she would never do it. The rationalizations, legitimate or not, would just continue to add up and make it harder to convince herself that escape was possible. One year of preparation and one 30-day trial run with her husband later, they set sail on the trip of a lifetime. Julie realized almost as soon as the anchor lifted that, far from being a reason not to travel and seek adventure, children are perhaps the best reason of all to do both. Pre-trip, her three little boys had fought like banshees at the drop of a hat. In the process of learning to coexist in a floating bedroom, they learned patience, as much for themselves as for the sanity of their parents. Pre-trip, books were about as appealing as eating sand. Given the alternative of staring at a wall on the open sea, all three learned to love books. Pulling them out of school for one academic year and exposing them to new environments had proven to be the best investment in their education to date. Now sitting in the plane, Julie looked out at the clouds as the wing cut past them, already thinking of their next plans: to find a place in the mountains and ski all year long, using income from a sail-rigging workshop to fund the slopes and more travel. Now that she had done it once, she had the itch.

I looked up—a sheer, flat, white rocky face (the kind you would take a ski lift to reach the top of or wear a parachute to jump from)—and thought: Oh, shit.

(For Chip and Jawa, this wasn’t an issue; since they already knew how to ski, they only had to pretend to get better.) Zoe, Jessica, and I mastered skiing down a beginner run slowly without falling, as well as getting on and off the ski lift without gravely injuring ourselves. Erica, to her chagrin, didn’t improve quite as much, but she managed to stay upright most of the time. Meanwhile, Warren had somehow managed to actually get worse during the day. He’d started with at least an idea of how to ski, but by the end of the class, he was spending most of his time splayed out on the snow.

chatted with the wives about Botox and face-lifts, the latest place to go skiing, the most exclusive new villa to book for a holiday in Tuscany. Conversation at these functions was achingly repetitive, but it meant I could contribute without having to try too hard.

The real problem is posed by those countrymen who are complete slaves to machines from a shockingly young age. All exceptions aside, it is impossible to make the average Finnish country dweller of over fifteen years of age ride a bicycle, ski or row — or even exercise in the fields. The spell of the car and its antecedent — the scooter — is unbelievable. A young man will travel a hundred metres to the sauna by car; as this involves backing the car, reversing and manoeuvring, opening and shutting garage doors, it is not a matter of saving time. In the case of farmers, moreover, the more technology advances — every sack of fertiliser now being lifted by a tractor, the spread and removal of manure being a mechanical feat — the more will their physical activities be limited to taking a few steps in the garden and climbing onto the benches of saunas. Lumberjacks have already been replaced by multi-tasking machines, while fishermen lever their trawl sacks with a winch, haul their nets with a lever, and gather their Baltic herrings with an aspirator from open fish traps.

Chapel Parking Lot Access: From Denver, drive I-70 west 80 miles to exit 195. Turn right into Copper Mountain Resort. Continue approximately 1 mile, then turn left into the chapel parking lot. Walk south and west to the Village Center Plaza in the area of the American Eagle chairlift. To intersect the CT, go about 150 yards diagonally southeast between the condos on the left and the American Eagle lift on the right, Segment 8, mile 1.6. Union Creek Ski Area Access: Instead of parking at the chapel lot, continue through Copper Mountain Village to the Union Creek drop-off parking area. (Parking is permitted here during off-ski-season months.) Cross over the covered bridge, go past the ticket office and under the elevated walkway, turn right on a gravel road, pass under a ski lift, and go about 200 yards on the road. Turn left up the road, around a green security gate, and follow the road east uphill about 400 yards to a wide area in the road. Pick up the single-track of the CT to the right, by a painted white rock, mile 2.1 of CT Segment 8. Tennessee Pass Trailhead Access: See Segment 9 on page 128.

TRAIL DESCRIPTION Begin Segment 8 on the west side of CO Hwy 91 (no parking) at mile 0.0 (9,820). Camping is prohibited the next 4 miles. The trail enters the forest southwest and follows a few switchbacks uphill as it skirts the golf course, crosses a bridge, and passes under a power line. The CT then heads northwest and traverses ski runs, goes under a ski lift, and passes nearest the Copper Mountain Resort at mile 1.6 (9,768). There are restaurants, sporting goods shops, and some grocery shopping at the base of the ski hill. The trail passes underneath the American Eagle Ski Lift and then becomes single-track at mile 2.1 (9,988), following a few roundabout switchbacks up the hill. There are two streams ahead, followed by great views of the Tenmile Range. At mile 3.4 (10,345), bear sharply to the right and leave the horse trail the CT was following. A cross-country ski trail merges from the left at mile 5.0 (10,519), but the CT continues straight ahead. At mile 5.2 (10,480), pass Jacque Creek, immediately followed by Guller Creek. There is a campsite just up the hill between the two. Continue upstream along Guller Creek following an elongated meadow to mile 6.2 (10,854) for additional camping and water. Janet’s Cabin, a popular ski hut, comes into view as the trail climbs out of the canyon.

Last night's harsh phone call seemed to be a distant memory as we spent the day in the snow with my new fake friends, going for one last turn on the mountain while I drank boiled wine at the bottom of the ski lift at the hutte. I honestly told Anette in the ski lift during the day what Sabrina had told me on the phone the night before, but she remained silent and didn't seem surprised for some reason. I didn't think Anette would conspire with Betty to test me or win me. I didn’t think they would conspire with Sabrina but perhaps I didn’t know her well enough to assume what she was capable of when jealous, mad, sad, confused or in love. Perhaps they did not. Everything I don't know. I try to write here all that I know and have managed to figure out, taking a long time. I try to share what I have been through because I am sure that others will find it useful to learn from my mistakes, faults, sins, virtues, and so on. Perhaps only my luck, good or bad, I don't know. I could not have figured out what happened if I had not written down exactly how things unfolded in order to be able to see through it all and comprehend what really happened since I bought that Roberto Saviano book and met Sabrina. Perhaps the women had been conspiring for one reason or another; perhaps they had not. Nonetheless, it was odd. „Water is wet, the sky is blue, women have secrets. Who gives a f..k?” – Joe Hallenbeck Do all men have to be natural-born and supernatural detectives like Bruce Willis in all his movies, or in The Last Boy Scout? I'm not sure how many coincidences can fit so strangely into reality by chance, or is it all manipulation? Is it all because of the story of Eve and the snake and the apple?

He took my hand, and then, before I knew what he was doing, lifted it to his mouth. I felt the briefest brush of his lips against my ski, and then he had released me and was back to exclaiming over his gifts. I turned and went into the kitchen in an aimless haste, looking for something to do, anything that might distract me from the warmth that had trailed up my arm like an errant summer breeze, and settled for preparing a light repast from the remains of our provisions.

I nod, continuing to listen to a story about the time Robbie and Nate fell out of a ski lift.

But more than the sins themselves, what upset her most was the effort the community put into covering up for the sinners, leaving their victims at the mercy of their tormentors, and all for the sake of preserving the unity of the village against the outside world. She thought bitterly of the pamphlets strewn around town, calling for a popular uprising against the new ski slope. There was so much activism against the “invasion,” yet nobody had lifted a finger to help these kids.

As I’ve said before, I never understand why people ski down a slope to a bar and then go on a lift so they can ski down the same slope again. That’s like walking to the pub on a Sunday, then going home and walking to the pub again. Madness.

Too

I have to tell you something." Jonah spreads his jacket over the three of them. Hallelujah tucks the sleeve under her body. It’s like they’re being held together. Embraced. “I—” He takes a deep breath. “I really liked you. The whole time you liked Luke, I . . . I liked you. I was even going to ask you to ride on the ski lift with me in the fall, but Luke told me you’d already asked him.” Hallelujah is genuinely surprised. “He asked me.” “I know that now. I didn’t know it then. And you didn’t exactly look like you minded riding with him. Kissing him. And then when we walked in on you two—uh—making out—” “We were not making out,” Hallelujah cuts in. “I mean, not any more . . .” “Right. But like I said, I didn’t know that. You were practically on top of him, and you looked like—and Luke said it was all your idea, and you didn’t say anything, not then and not after—” He breaks off. Picks up again. “I didn’t like thinking about you doing something like that. I was mad. I wanted it to be me. That’s why I didn’t stand up for you. I liked you,” Jonah repeats

When you’re in need of a rescue the approaching thump-thump-thump of rapidly rotating blades is a joyous sound. To give the helicopter rescue the greatest chance of success, a suitable landing zone will have to be found. The ideal landing zone should not require a completely vertical landing or takeoff, both of which reduce the pilot’s control. The ground should slope away on all sides, allowing the helicopter to immediately drop into forward flight when it’s time to take off. Landings and liftoffs work best when the aircraft is pointed into the wind because that gives the machine the greatest lift. The area should be as large as possible, at least 60 feet across for most small rescue helicopters, and as clear as possible for obstructions such as trees and boulders. Clear away debris (pine needles, dust, leaves) that can be blown up by the wash of air, with the possibility of producing mechanical failure. Light snow can be especially dangerous if it fluffs up dramatically to blind the pilot. Wet snow sticks to the ground and adds dangerous weight. If you have the opportunity, pack snow flat well before the helicopter arrives—the night before would be ideal—to harden the surface of the landing zone. Tall grass can be a hazard because it disturbs the helicopter’s cushion of supporting air and hides obstacles such as rocks and tree stumps. To prepare a landing zone, clear out the area as much as possible, including removing your equipment and all the people except the one who is going to be signaling the pilot. Mark the landing zone with weighted bright clothing or gear during the day or with bright lights at night. In case of a night rescue, turn off the bright lights before the helicopter starts to land—they can blind the pilot. Use instead a low-intensity light to mark the perimeter of the landing area, such as chemical light sticks, or at least turn the light away from the helicopter’s direction. Indicate the wind’s direction by building a very small smoky fire, hanging brightly colored streamers, throwing up handfuls of light debris, or signaling with your arms pointed in the direction of the wind. The greatest danger to you occurs while you’re moving toward or away from the helicopter on the ground. Never approach the rear and never walk around the rear of a helicopter. The pilot can’t see you, and the rapidly spinning tail rotor is virtually invisible and soundless. In a sudden shift of the aircraft, you can be sliced to death. Don’t approach by walking downhill toward the helicopter, where the large overhead blade is closest to the ground. It is safest to come toward the helicopter from directly in front, where the pilot has a clear field of view, and only after the pilot or another of the aircraft’s personnel has signaled you to approach. Remove your hat or anything that can be sucked up into the rotors. Stay low because blades can sink closer to the ground as their speed diminishes. Make sure nothing is sticking up above your pack, such as an ice ax or ski pole. In most cases someone from the helicopter will come out to remind you of the important safety measures. One-skid landings or hovering while a rescue is attempted are solely at the discretion of the pilot. They are a high risk at best, and finding a landing zone and preparing it should always be given priority.

During the past year I have been unrestricted in my physical activities. I have done many things which should be terrible for a herniated L-5 disc and sciatic pain, such as fly to Thailand (twenty-six hours of airplane sitting), build a room in the basement, ski, hike, lift babies and hike with a backpack. I rarely feel sciatic nerve pain, and when I do it is mild. I no longer think about my back; instead I think about what may be making me feel anxious or tense. I experience my sciatic nerve as a benign barometer of anxiety.

When you have an unexpected crush on your childhood best friend, you spend a lot of time imagining the way you might kiss him one day. The fantasies I entertained of this moment were ridiculous cliches, based on movies and TV shows, and the romance novels I used to find in the pool clubhouse at Grandma Clark's condo. These scenarios often involved a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, a ski lift in Colorado, the top of the Eiffel Tower amid fireworks, or an unspecified beach in California.

According to this theory, a particle passing through the slits is a ‘probability wave’. The particle does not have an exact location but instead has a probability of being here, there, or somewhere else entirely. Some locations are more probable, such as the light areas in the interference pattern, and some will be less probable, such as the dark areas. According to the Copenhagen Interpretation, an unobserved electron does not exist as a particle, instead it is a wave covering areas of probability – called superpositions – where it could possibly be found once observed. Once the electron is observed, the wave function collapses, and the electron becomes a particle.

Freedom is necessary for true sanity,” she said. “Because if you’re not free then some part of you has to live in ignorance – or live a lie. Living a lie is worse than any lie ever spoken. Truth isn’t democratic – is part of what I’m trying to say. Two plus two equals four – that isn’t decided in an election. The majority does not define sanity and yet that’s all we’re taught – in our family, school, church, work, politics – get along, go with the crowd, listen to authority, get good grades, don’t talk back, stand in line, wait your turn, cooperate. Wait your turn? But what if your turn never comes unless you get outside of the line and unless you start talking back?

I was a smoker during the last days of smokers still running the show, really being in charge in many ways. When you can exhale smoke that hovers and floats across the room, it’s unsaid, but clear, that you’re calling a lot of shots. That haze of smoke across the restaurant, or bar, or lobby, or office, or airplane cabin – if you can believe it – it’s part of me, my breath, making its way into your lungs.

Isaac stood alone in snow level with his boots, his hands shoved into his pockets and his chin tucked close to his chest. He ignored the frigid air and stared into the distance, at the point where icing-sugar inclines became jagged mountaintops. He could see the ski-paths tracing up and down each slope, and the ski-lifts above them like the ghosts of ley lines over cracked earth. Only, he couldn’t see earth; not for miles. Usually, that would bother him. Would make him itch. But the pine on the wind and the savage cold was close enough, it seemed. His breathing was even; his soul was soothed; his mind was as quiet as it ever fucking got. Quiet enough for the fragments of poetry that chased him to capture the whole of his attention.

Uncertainty is a force like gravity.

Technology replaces human effort. The tractor replaced manual plowing. The airplane replaced walking.

The quystball machine will replace human intuition with digital quantumnition.

My findings indicate a strong possibility that the laws of physics are different when life is present. I need help understanding what I’m seeing. So much of it seems like weird magic. Can life have a magic power? Or does life appear as magic because I’m trapped in a living form? And I’m trapped within time, which is an artificial construct, but I can’t manipulate time or observe anything outside of the time I’m trapped in.

Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then. – Katharine Hepburn

If you want to go east, don’t go west. – Ramakrishna

Keith looped the plastic around Mouse’s wrists, cinching it tight, while Sean did the same to the man’s ankles. Then Keith lifted his weight from Mouse’s back and flipped him over, then said, “Let’s see who we have here.” Sean reached down and plucked off the ski mask, revealing a sweaty, freckled face that looked vaguely familiar to Keith. Then he remembered. He’d seen the guy at Rav’s house, weeks ago. Trina gasped. “Derrick Vole?

wakeboarding or skiing is a lot easier. Just get in the boat, lower the lift, and go. You can