I love a fresh snow. Especially the light fluffy stuff. The countryside turns quiet, peaceful; idyllic. As your countenance takes in the wilderness and you survey the surroundings you’re senses are magnified 2 db. Take a deep breath. No, a real deep breath. Okay, try not to cough. Now exhale. Ahhhh. You feel invigorated and ready to slay the day.

It was under these conditions that I found myself attempting a traverse across the back slope of the Pizza Hut parking lot. Parking was brutal down below and a short hike from the upper lot would fall far short of adventurous. Here comes the tricky part.

Exceeding the legal grade where most likely chains would be required is the banked corners coming out of turn number one. The kind you’re more familiar with Rusty Wallace or Mario Andretti flying around. Only this time it’s a trap. An ambush.

My spidey senses were tingling when my feet attempted a few tricks with some quick slips on the flat grade. That’s when I came across the precipice. I stopped to gather my thoughts and weigh my options. I started to say a short prayer but tossed it when I realized that was for catechism. Then my impetus began to accelerate at the rate of 2 p2 w. Turns out I wasn’t on the precipice at all. Hee!

Walk like a duck my ass! Snow Plow! Snow Plow! No herringbone. Herring bone?

If you happen to be right handed you sometimes think the same about your feet. Your right leg, that’s your go-to guy. The one you can depend on. The one you can put your weight on. This time the right leg was all go-to… if you know what I mean. How a leg can switch from standing to perpendicular before you can get the b out of Son-of-a

The brain. You see the brain is an amazing organ. It processes thoughts faster than a jello fart. One instant you’re trying to recall the last time you got hurt. I mean really hurt. Bone busting, blood curdling, snot gobbler hurt. The next thing you realize is your wondering, “Is that an oil stain or mag chloride smudge on the side of these new shoes?” “Look mom! I can do the river dance!”

As you sort out the myriad of injuries that humans succumb to in these types of falls you begin to lobby for the most desirable. Bruise, bruise no, shoulder separation. How about break an arm. But please don’t take the spleen. Leave the spleen.

0.072 seconds into the fall the right leg made a course correction and stabbed down at an obtuse angle somewhere along the fall line and Jesus Christ that hurts! And then it was all over and you’ve quickly made your way down to the flat part, sheepishly glad you didn’t have to waste a “Man Scream” on that one. Anyone see me slip?