Hardwear Sessions

From the second my skis begin sliding forward, a smile washes across my face.

As our group gathers at the upper shuttle lot at Silverton Mountain, we casually ask our guide "So what's next for you?" As expected, the edges of his mouth curl into a mischievous smile as he downloads his plans between then and the first day of skiing at Silverton next year.

First, Japan for some quick money-making doing demolition.

Next destination is Alaska. Some more turns with a friend in Valdez, and then he'll be dropped off on a glacier for another couple weeks of skiing.

After that, it's time to start his summer job in Argentina where he will be (you guessed it) ski guiding again.

We finish a couple more stellar runs (as our guide seems to have a sixth sense for deep powder), and end the day with a beer in the 'lodge' (read: large tent at the bottom of the lift) at Silverton.

As we head back to Flagstaff after the weekend's adventures, I start thinking a bit about our guide and other people like him who I have met along my travels. I have a great respect for those who have taken the leap to choosing a particular sport to dedicate the vast majority of their time to. This group spans the range from the professional athletes, to year-round raft guides, to the snow-following lifties, to the endless through-hikers (and many more).

I always think to myself how great it would be to really dedicate myself to a sport like that. To really throw myself into it. To reach a level of aptitude previously beyond what I even thought was possible. . .

The mileage signs decrease steadily, and we pull into town. I unpack my avalanche gear and put my skis in the corner of the garage where they may likely stay until next season.

The next morning I get up, ride my bike to work, go through the daily ritual, and ride home. On the way home, I notice how much more brown and green I am starting to see on the mountain and decide to pull out my mountain bike. After changing clothes and cranking up to the mountain for the next 30 to 45 minutes I get to the top of a trail which appears to be thawed out.

I pull on some sleeves and knee-warmers, and roll to the top of the trail. I build some speed and begin to flow back down the trail towards home.

From the second my bike starts rolling downhill, a smile washes across my face.

On the way down, I bounce off rocks, slide around corners, and launch off small drops. As the trail rushes by me, my mind drifts back to our guide in Silverton.

I could probably handle skiing year round, I know I would enjoy it. But then again, when summer starts emerging from under the snow, instead of looking for a place where there's still snow, right now I just look for the next sport. I take comfort in knowing that if I get burnt out on one sport or another, enjoyment can easily be found by pulling another arrow out of the quiver.

This seasonal transitioning of sports may not get me to the point of being in an extreme film on my tele-skis, and it will almost certainly never get me onto a podium at a professional level mountain bike race. But, for right now, I take comfort in the cyclic nature of my outdoor pursuits.

Is this changing with the seasons is a forced necessity because of having a 'real job'? Maybe it is a certain personality trait that just makes me want to do a little bit of everything? Whatever the reason, as the prospect of the long mountain biking season stretches out in front of me, I take comfort in knowing that I'm not a full-time skier right now.

Maybe someday this cycle will break and I'll strive to achieve that 'next level' in one particular sport. For now, I'm just riding the wave.

When Nathan Friedman isn't pondering the trail in front of him, or the snow below him, he can be found writing on his blog HandlebarSandwich.com and generally enjoying life from his home base in the mountains of northern Arizona.