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As we skied through the great field behind Sara’s house, wind whipped and stung our cheeks. “You’re lucky it isn’t windy today! That’s when it’s awful”, Sara remarked.
It was a clean morning, the sloping view of Vermont and then New Hampshire on our East side and the scraggly sugar bush woods extending out to the North and West. We all looked forward to finding out what the Spencers’ trail system had in store for us. It did NOT disappoint. Over bumps and jumps we went, winding our way through the forest. We skied out to the picturesque view of Mt. Ascutney, frosted over at this point in late January, at the far end of their property. The calm serenity of the woods was quite shattered after we came through, flying off of bumps in the trails and crash landing into the snow face first. The girls were slightly more civilized as they gracefully skied along the trails. I’m sure I looked rather savage and wild with all that snow frozen to every hair on my face. We finally made it to the top of the power lines that cut through Sara’s woods. It was time for powder line skiing on the power lines.
We skied out of the woods through the trees and more powder and back to the field, tired and ready for lunch. The lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches with squash or tomato soup was delectable. We lay around, gazing out of the sitting room at the snowy fields and experiencing truly mind-blowing revelations in some visual illusion books we found lying around.
With lunch settling in our stomachs, we put away the classic boots and skis, hoping into the skate equipment. Stan had a surprise for the gang as we were heading out. It was time that the Ford Sayre posse took a crack at the Biathlon. Stan and Sara brought out two rifles and we went off in pairs of two. Around their field loop and then back to the shooting range we went, coming in hot and nervous. Each of us shouldered one of the .22’s and gave it our best in the hopes of hitting the target just once out of our 5 shots. Adam credited his one hit to his time well spent at the Craftsbury summer biathlon camp. I hit none (surprise!) in my race with Sara, who got a hit. She would have won the resulting penalty loop sprints we all suffered through, however, I think my being two years older and a foot taller might have had something to do with the race ending in my victory. As if that wasn’t enough, a couple of us even took Stan’s fat bike for a spin in the snow drifts!
My hat, or tuque, goes off to the Spencers for the great introduction to those sports. I’m sure the lot of us would love to make it back to that red barn on the hill for another round of adventuring before the winter’s end.