The upper reaches of Mt. Hood are skiable well into July. As such, numerous ski racing teams, the U.S. Ski Team included, run training clinics and practices on the mountain. Joe Q. Public is also welcome to ski the Magic Mile, just below the Palmer snowfield, as well as the upper mountain. The lift up to the top of Palmer (it's really a very strange place, Mt. Hood) ascends to approximately 8500 feet. Do a few runs from this elevation and you'll get a little bit more used to the altitude. Come out late at night and you'll be treated to the sight of snowcats grooming 35-degree slopes. Not a job I would want. Also a little spooky to watch. Spookier still to climb by snowcat headlights, all the while breathing diesel fumes and sulphur from the crater...

But I digress.

I'm an intermediate skier, no better. Magic Mile I would call upper intermediate, and Palmer seemed pretty black diamond to me. I "skied" (I don't get nearly enough slide time on the East Coast) several runs on Magic Mile, slowly and cautiously ("Powder is fun! Also, what's powder?"). The Jeffs and I skied mostly together, with the two of them telemarking down the run and waiting for me as they took breaks. We had gotten separated from Brett on our first run - he was adjusting his bindings - and after a horde of snowboarders arrived the three of us decided to ski the upper mountain in an attempt to avoid the crowds. We took the Palmer lift up, and at its top I found myself looking down on one of the steepest runs I'd yet to try to ski (I've only been skiing six months, and perhaps only six times, mostly at groomed East Coast resorts - so I'm pretty much blue square).

I let the Jeffs go ahead and link some turns down the upper Palmer as I sideslipped and wedged down over the icy slope. Of course, for the racers, the slope is salted to encourage icing. I made it down a couple hundred feet using survival tactics and actually started to feel pretty good, making traverse turns, taking it easy. Just as all was seeming right with the world, for some inexplicable reason my head quickly and violently came into contact with the slope arcing down before me. I felt a massive amount of pain in my back as my torso twisted around itself. My legs splayed out uphill and creaked in pain. I lay there for a few seconds catching my breath. The Jeffs were downslope from me and couldn't see me due to the fact that I was just above a knoll. I finally was able to roll over on my ass and kick one ski off (my alpine touring bindings did not release). The best bit was kicking one ski edge into the uphill slope and edging the free one in below it, then bending over without falling (again) and attaching my binding to my boot (my bindings are not step-ins). It was sort of the Contortion Olympics up there for a few minutes. I managed to begin another sideslip and got down another hundred feet or so before I started seeing orange-colored gates in my way. After passing a few of these I was startled out of my element once more when I heard a screaming, booming, "LEEEEEFFFFFFFT!" coming from behind me, at what sounded, sonically speaking, like a very high speed. As I plowed to a stop to the right of the Palmer, I turned to see a ski racer in full regalia pass me like a rocket, narrowly missing me in what certainly would have been a frightful and painful collision to say the least.