I sat in the fluffly bed of snow uncomfortablly resting my back on the slope, my skis and legs in a pretzel-like knot beneath my torso. My muscles hurt; my ankles felt strained against my ski boots.
I was laughing hard and deep when I stood up though there was no one close enough to hear me. The others had continued on skiing down hill into the wooded base below.
It was absolute madness to be skiing in the woods like this. How could you not follow Shea Quinn though? He knew what he was doing. He could navigate the glades on any ski resort. Shea approached every ski trail with confidence. It didn't matter if the trail was marked or not. Shea hatched crazy plans on ski slopes, and just watching him cut sharply around stumps and logs in a thickly-wooded glade made anyone following want to jump right into it.
The wind was cold and biting. The snow was deep, and it weighed my skis down as I tried to pull myself together. I was still laughing hysterically when I saw Shea.
He came barreling down the slope toward the middle of the forest. He was turning as handily as he could at that speed. I remember hearing him yell "Oooooh!" as he went straight through that dead tree and split it in half. The top of the trunk flipped over his back as he made impact.
Shea crashed in the snow a few feet away. A broken tree trunk stood two feet above the snow up slope. I looked at Shea, and we both erupted into one of the deepest fits of laughter I have ever known.