Skiing the Springs’ streets
Lorea Zabaleta ‘23
she/her/hers
2.2.22: A fortuitous day in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Overnight and throughout the day, the city received approximately eight inches of snow. Blanketed in white, everything felt quiet and still, and full of possibilities. One such possibility was getting pulled behind my roommate’s car on skis through the streets.
3:45 PM: I enter the house and call out, “Hey Ben! I have a terrible, wonderful idea.”
I explain said idea. He grins and says he’s in.
8:50 PM: Several delays later the sun has very much gone down, but the darkness does not deter us (although another roommate suggests it should). Dressed in a strange mix of attire — partially meant for skiing, partially meant for lounging in the house, and wearing a headlamp over a climbing helmet… I was ready.
The setup was simple: a tow-rope attached to Ben’s car and me, holding onto said tow-rope. The trunk of the car is open with a willing volunteer sitting there to both keep an eye on me, and also to document the experience.
Music blasting, Ben takes off — at maybe, maybe 15 mph. My first thought, this isn’t enough speed. My second, that’s okay I want to live. It is not downhill skiing but it is sliding on snow on skis.
At first, I am cautious, holding on tight and keeping my toes pointing straight at the back of the car. Then, slowly but surely, the fear fades and is replaced with joy. I’m skiing! On the streets of Colorado Springs!
I glide, eventually working up the courage to make some turns — side to side, waving to my driver via his mirror. Despite the music blasting, there’s a serenity to the moment. The streets are empty besides us, some college kids being stupid. Dim lights from street lamps cover the snow in a golden glow and my headlamp contrasts with bright white illuminating vibrant red skis.
Quickly, my hands lose feeling as I foolishly did not put on my gloves; which mind you, I had in my pockets. We pause so I can put them on, a task made difficult by my fingers being frozen blocks.
The second half of the adventure, while just as fun, is considerably more painful as my hands slowly regain feeling while I maintain a grip on a tow rope.
There’s a simple joy in this moment. A revival of the childhood snowball fights and snowman building. Of running outside without consideration for other tasks as soon as you see the blanket of white cover the ground.