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| Bohle dropping the pow |
On those cold, early
mornings, standing above a face of untouched fluff, a chemical reaction inside
my head starts to etch a permanent image of that moment in my memory.
I can recall those times when
everything falls perfectly into place and I drop into bottomless, blower pow
(or even coastal cement), as if it happened just last week.
Like a rolodex, I can flip back through 35 years of history, pulling out cards on individual runs,
complete with notations on snow conditions, mental state, and partners.
The human brain works in mysterious ways . . . especially on
powder days.
