Stories: Not Too Far From The Ocean
The End of Polio? • I Was a Long-boarder • The Draft: What's Your Problem? • Timothy Leary? • To Ski or Not to Ski • Butch and Sundance • Dogs, Dogs, Dogs! • Arrivals • It's Just a Car • Fish On! • Music Musings • Walter Mitty Redux • Clamming and Crabbing • Grandpop: Can We Talk?
To Ski or Not to Ski
In addition to pursuing my art career and of course surfing in my early life, another passion of mine was skiing. I vividly remember watching video excerpts from the 1960 Winter Olympics in Squaw Valley, California, on TV, hosted by Walter Cronkite. I was fascinated by how the athletes moved down the slopes, which reminded me of dropping into a 5-foot wave at Malibu, making a bottom turn and actually making the wave. I couldn't wait to save enough money to buy ski equipment and give it a try.
Eventually, I managed to buy some ski gear and test it out at Big Bear and Mt. Baldy ski areas in the San Bernardino National Forest. Unfortunately, disaster struck when I realized the skis were far too long for my 145-pound frame at 205 cm—that's almost 7 feet. In those days, the boots were lace-up, and the bindings were leather strap down. So taking a bad fall could result in a genuine risk of injury. After taking numerous tumbles, I decided to take a break from skiing.
On a sad note from those years, I remember a day trip to Mt. Baldy with my friend Doug on November 22, 1963. We had a great day on the slopes, but as we drove back to Santa Monica and turned on the radio, we were met with the shocking news about the assassination of John F. Kennedy. It was a sad way to end what had been a wonderful day, but it did help clarify my political views at the time.
Fast-forward to 1972 and a nine-month sojourn to Europe with my friend Tommy. After wandering through Northern Europe for a few weeks, we found ourselves in Vienna, Austria. Unfortunately, it rained heavily during our stay there, so aside from spending time in our van and trying to get in to see The Lipizzaner Stallions, we decided to explore a bit and stumbled into a ski shop.
There, I purchased a pair of 165 cm Fisher skis. In that era, shorter skis were becoming popular, and I was eager to give skiing another shot. The shorter skis promised to be easier on my skinny legs.
When I returned home to Southern California after my sojourn in Europe, I made a few excursions to the local mountains whenever there was enough snow to try out my newly acquired short skis. I found them to be very forgiving on my legs, although my friends Rich and Dick would chide me and call me "turkey legs." No worries, their legs were significantly larger than average, leading me to nickname them "cannon calves" and "thunder thighs," respectively. I finally wound up with Hexel 190s that became a perfect fit for honing my skiing skils.
Adventures:
After leaving the Army, my friend Rich became a pilot and purchased a 1960 Piper Comanche. Over the years, we had many great adventures flying to various ski areas together across the Western States, honing our skills at Mammoth, California, Taos, New Mexico, and Sun Valley, Idaho to name a few.
