Maxed Out 

Getting the dream back

by G.D. Maxwell

It’s happening.

Not today and not tomorrow but the day after that and the day after that, it’s happening. Jeez, talk about testing a guy’s resolve, throwing temptation in his path, leading him astray. Might just as well have given me the winning lottery numbers, a case of scotch or a place to call my own.

Everything in my overflowing in-basket’s getting the bum’s rush instead of the usual, thoughtful, occasionally original and even creative spin my editors have come to expect. It was all I could do to sit down long enough to write this column instead of digging into the archives for one old enough no one would remember it first appeared back in the day when people took Candidate Nebbeling seriously.

Even politics is taking a back seat, attention spanwise!

It’s Ma Nature’s fault. Well, hers and the Mothercorp’s. Those heartless manipulators and spinmeisters on Blackcomb Way have opportunistically decided to open one of two mountains this weekend to either tempt fate or reward patience. Bless you gentlemen and ladies, bless you.

I apologize in advance to whomever I sit next to Saturday at the All-Candidates Beauty Pageant and Group Love-In. I’ll be the guy in the dripping, steaming, never-seen-the-inside-of-a-washing-machine ski gear. I’ll share whatever’s left in my flask with you if that’s any consolation and we can heckle together, possibly in harmony if you know how to heckle in harmony. I’ll carry the melody.

Since the press release first appeared Monday, my attention’s been blurred. I think it’s the wax fumes. I know it’s pointless, okay, relatively pointless to tune and wax rock skis, powder skis I probably won’t ride for another month, touring skis I definitely won’t ride for a while, skis I’ll probably never ride again in my life and friends’ skis just so they’ll feel obliged to go up with me this weekend and share the buzz, but I’ve got to do something to keep from busting out of my skin.


Please, if you’re a snowboarder, read the word ‘skiing’ as being expansive enough to include what you do. The season’s just starting; my heart’s big enough to embrace your passion as well as mine. We’re brothers and sisters under the skin, at least until we run into each other.

This is why I moved here. This is, in all probability, why you moved here. Ever wonder why those people you meet every now and then who don’t ski or board moved here? Me too. Weird, isn’t it. It reminds me a little of living in Montreal – all the drawbacks of living on an island with none of the steel band, hot sun, cold rum drinks comforts. What’s with that?

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