ColumbiaMagazine.com
Printed from:

Welcome to Columbia Magazine  
 




































 
Carol Perkins: The Ski Trip (Part 1 of 5)

Previous Column: One Voice

By Carol Perkins

"We need to try something new each year," I said to my husband, Guy, on my birthday. "We can go skiing, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, and maybe take a ride in a hot air balloon."

He saw nothing wrong with what we were doing now.

When high school students at the school where I taught, along with a few teachers, planned a midnight trip to Ski Butler, a resort with man-made snow not too far from Louisville, Kentucky, I insisted we go. I invited my best friend Judy to join us.

"We've never been on a pair of skis!" Guy declared, emphasizing the word NEVER. "People get killed who know what they're doing."

"I know, but how hard can it be? I see little kids skiing on TV."


Our friend reluctantly agreed to go, so, in preparation, we bought appropriate attire, such as warm-up suits, earmuffs, and gloves (not exactly Aspen trendsetters).

The lodge looked lovely as we drove up the mountainside that night. Once inside, the roaring fire convinced me we had made the right decision. I could smell the hot chocolate.

"Do you think that woman sitting alone at the table with her arm in a sling is a bad omen?" my friend whispered as we walked by her, zeroing in on the ski rental area. Little did we know what was to follow.

A Troy Donahue-looking college kid led us into a locker room with skis lining the walls. They were so beautiful that I held my breath.

Then he ruined it by asking what we weighed. I didn't see the significance of that question.

He said, "The length of the skis is based on weight. According to what you weigh," he said, looking at me from top to bottom, "You would need racing skis, but I think these will do."

With a smirk, I took the skis. I wanted to crack him over the head with one, but Guy gave me a look.

He then fitted us with ski boots. I had no clue they felt like they were filled with cement. I'm sure the Mafia (I've seen movies!) put ski boots on some of their victims before dumping them into Hudson Bay.

More to come...


Share your thoughts with Carol at carolperkins06@gmail.com, or with CM readers using our Comment Form.


This story was posted on 2025-12-31 15:06:10
Printable: this page is now automatically formatted for printing.
Have comments or corrections for this story? Use our contact form and let us know.



 

































 
 
Quick Links to Popular Features


Looking for a story or picture?
Try our Photo Archive or our Stories Archive for all the information that's appeared on ColumbiaMagazine.com.

 

Contact us: Columbia Magazine and columbiamagazine.com are published by Linda Waggener and Pen Waggener, PO Box 906, Columbia, KY 42728.
Phone: 270.403.0017


Please use our contact page, or send questions about technical issues with this site to webmaster@columbiamagazine.com. All logos and trademarks used on this site are property of their respective owners. All comments remain the property and responsibility of their posters, all articles and photos remain the property of their creators, and all the rest is copyright 1995-Present by Columbia Magazine. Privacy policy: use of this site requires no sharing of information. Voluntarily shared information may be published and made available to the public on this site and/or stored electronically. Anonymous submissions will be subject to additional verification. Cookies are not required to use our site. However, if you have cookies enabled in your web browser, some of our advertisers may use cookies for interest-based advertising across multiple domains. For more information about third-party advertising, visit the NAI web privacy site.