Birds of Prey

Gracefully surrender the things of youth.

Birds of Prey

For the past couple of years I've volunteered to work at Birds of Prey, i.e., The Beaver Creek, Audi, FIS Ski, Birds of Prey, World Cup, Super G, Downhill, and Giant Slalom races. It's a guy race, and I'd rather see the women race, but the event is close to our cabin in Minturn and I don't have the money for a lot of travel.

This wasn't my first time working the event. Before I lost my job, sacked for the sin of turning forty, my office would set up our tent near the competitors hut and fill it with the skis, boots, polls, googles and apparel sold by my employer. In addition, we hosted a hospitality room in the back of the tent for the competitors. The room was heated and we served complementary hot beverages, juices and pastries. We had big screen monitors set up showing generic ski films until we got the actual video of the competitor's runs. And then we would show these. We had nice cars loaned to us by Audi and we could provide the competitors with rides to the airports or hotels if needed. The ultimate hostesses.

But those were the very last of my glory days, and now they are over. I'm grateful that I went gracefully when I was pushed out, for it left me with a shred of dignity. I shudder to think of myself arguing that I wasn't too old for the job with a bunch of central office guys who didn't want me.

So now I work a concession stand that primarily caters to the spectators instead of the competitors. I'm paid for this work, but the money isn't enough to worry about. Mostly I enjoy dealing with the crowd and occasionally I meet someone who recognizes me from the old days and we talk about old times.

The morning before the opening day I pulled into the Beaver Creek lot and was waived through by the attendant, who recognized me as being one of the set-up crew. Which saved me ten bucks on parking. There was a slick snow pack on the lot, so I parked in the most sheltered area I could find, a spot between two huge pickup trucks, which I hoped would protect my little Fiesta from the ubiquitous half drunk Texan showing his girlfriend how well he could dive on the snow.

As I made my way to the end of the row to catch the shuttle, I reveled in the perfect Colorado morning. Light snow on the ground, no wind, thirty degrees and wonderful clear morning sunshine. The gondola from the Westin was running and I watched the cars go overhead. The shuttle was a large, white fiberglass box with the nose of a Ford van poking out the front. The Beaver Creek oval was painted on every flat area, I guess to keep people from thinking they were in Aspen or Vail. Janice, another old timer flapped her hand in a comical wave from one of the steamy bus windows.

It was humid inside the little bus and mostly full. But Janice put a bundle on her lap, scooted over and motioned me to sit down next to her.

“Hi, Cupcake, you still with Billie?”

“Eight years this spring”, I replied.

“Fancy that, I guess some things really do last.”

“You on set-up?” I asked. “I didn't see you on the list.”

“Nope, I'm just here to look around today. Got my badge yesterday so I thought I'd take a tour. Hey, if I get hassled, I'll send them over to you and you tell them I'm on set up. OK?”

“I'll say I don't do the list, but I think you're on set up. As far as I know.”

“That should be enough”, Janice said with a laugh.

We arrived at the gondola area and boarded one of the cars. Janice's badge turned out to be activated and it got her on. So no need to bullshit the lifties. But that wouldn't have been a problem as Janice was a master at bullshitting her way onto the bottom lifts. She had skied all the Colorado resorts not owned by Vail, i.e., all the places where her ski pass didn't work, for free. A point of pride with her. We had the gondola car to ourselves and could see portions of the Super-G course on the way up.

“Looks like the barriers are up and ready do go”, said Janice.

“I think they have to be”, I replied. “They're doing the peripheral event stuff today and probably can't get the heavy equipment in anymore.”

“No gates yet. Not that I can see.” Janice observed.

“They go up tomorrow morning”, I replied.

We disembarked near the starting gates and walked to the concession area. Eventually, we stood in front of the large plywood box that held the tent, tables and miscellaneous supplies. The soft drink and coffee machines sat on top. I was so not into unpacking that box.

“Help me get the coke machine off the box”, I sighed.

“I'm not on set-up.”

“Oh come on, let's go.” We heaved the apparatus down onto the hard packed snow. I opened the box and began removing the tent. Actually, a type of cabana. It was all one piece and unfolded sort of like an accordion, and it was desperately heavy. Janice helped my tug on it and we got it over the edge of the box.

“Oh my God, I am getting old.” I said as sweat actually trickled down my face. I wiped it with a cold, snow covered glove. “Was forty-two last October.”

“It is a b***h isn't it?”

“Your forties are supposed to be the best, but by god, I'd trade most of them for one week of being twenty-five again. Twenty-five and wandering around Breck with some of the old crew.”

“Wandering around Breck with Billie and trying to avoid obvious.” Janice laughed. “You were famous Cupcake. We were taking bets on when you two would figure out what you were.”

“Don't rub that in. Lots of us are screwed up just out of the gate. You were. You told me.”

“Still am. By the way, I'm divorced now. Single. Free as a bird.”

This was a shock. “You seemed so happy with that guy. When did that happen?”

“Last summer. Things just change. I don't want to go into it now. But we didn't have one of those messy, hateful things. The whole thing was easy.”

“So if you're not in Denver being the doc's wife, what are you doing?”

“Finding myself. I guess. Back to working a hotel in Vail. The Mountain Marriott. But I'll have my real estate license soon. That might be a really good gig.”

“Well, glad to meet a fellow hotelier. We started out as desk clerks, and now, twenty years later, we're working as desk clerks. Same bullshit, new hotel.”

“But you're a part owner”, Janice noted.

“Five percent after five years of watching the place”, I replied. “Big whoop.”

“Your Vail people did you a really good turn there. Make sure you get that ownership interest. My big asset in life right now is a fourteen dollar an hour job.”

I was still trying to think up something encouraging to say when Janice said, “Well, I'm going to walk around. That's what I came to do. Hey, maybe pretend I'm twenty-five again.”

She wandered off towards the gates.

I got the accordion tent upright by button holing a really nice young guy in a white Red Bull Jacket who happened to be passing by.

“Hey, you in hurry?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“Good, could you help me with this goddamned thing? I'm supposed to set it up, but it weighs five hundred pounds.”

“Sure.”

Grunting and gasping we got the tent upright and onto it's pads, or feet, or whatever you call them. Those round steel things that look like upside down Frisbees.

“So what's with the Red Bull”, I panted.

“One of our sponsors in Crested Butte.”

“Are you in competition?”

“Not me, I'm D team. I'm just helping out with the guys who are.”

“I was D team in Breck”, I said. “Finally made it to C, but it ended there. They wouldn't move a D to a B, even if you were Lindsey Vonn.”

We tugged on the upright tent and got it to unfold. We each had to take a corner and rock back as hard as we could to get the roof to pop up tight, but we did it.

“Well, come back tomorrow and I'll give you a free coke”, I said. He laughed and moved on.

I put down the plywood floor and cinched the tent to giant cork screws cranked into the hard packed snow. I then began setting up the tables. Ordinary folding tables like the kind you see in church dining areas. A ring of tables around the center where we would work, and one table in the middle for some of the pastries and the cash box. Barbara Osoba arrived.

“Cupcake! Are you on the ticket?”

“Nope, haven't been there for years. I'm on concessions now. Janice is around somewhere.”

“How is she doing?” Barbie asked.

“Kind of like me. Staying alive. She got divorced last summer.”

“No”, Barbara said. “That's not good.”

“Seems to be taking it well. Can you help me put that damn coke machine on the back table? Let's just put it on the front table here and then slide it around to the back. Thing is too bitching heavy to carry all the way.”

With a little grunting and cursing we got the machine onto the front table and then slid it around the square of tables to it's official position in the rear of the tent. I went to get the bottles.

“What are you up to these days”, I called back.

“I'm in Steamboat driving a limo. We do runs to DIA. Driving Lyft and Uber in the summer.”

“Steamboat is nice”, I said. It truly was a place I'd always wanted to live.

“It's affordable”, said Barbara. “I might even buy a house in a couple of years. Not in the ski town, but out in the farm country. Oak Creek or Hayden. You can drive in to the hill from there.”

“Good to have a plan. Janice sounded kind of lost. Sort of like me.”

Barbara was silent for a moment. “I skied here a few years back when they moved the Women's World Cup here. There was no snow in Europe that year. Those were good days.”

The Red Bull kid showed up again. “You're friends with Janice. Right?”

“Yeah, she came in with me.”

“She wants you up at the gate. Can you come?”

“Well …. yeah”. I looked at Barbara and she arched an eyebrow and shook her head in puzzlement.

We made our way through the crowd and saw Janice standing just inside the gate. She was wearing boots and a helmet. She must have had her stuff sent in with one of the crews.

She lit up and waved when she saw us. She then reached around inside the gate enclosure and pulled out a pair of skis and began stepping into them. She was wearing street clothing and a floppy down jacket.

“Oh my f*****g god”, said Barbara.

“Don't!”, I yelled. “Hey Janice, Just Don't!”

We both tried to make our way around to the gate entrance, but there was a crowd. Almost all guys, and most seemed to know what was happening. They didn't want to move, they wanted to watch. Janice pushed off as we were still struggling through the crowd. She went into her starting tuck on the Super-G course. And then she was gone.

We made our way to the communications booth beside the gate. I pounded on the door and it was opened.

“That was my friend who just went down”, I said. “Is she OK?”

“We haven't heard anything”, said the guy at the door.

The second guy at the desk raised a finger and listened on his headphone.

After a minute he said, “She went down. About three quarters in. They say her coat got away from her.” He turned and looked at me, a quizzical look on his face, “Her coat?”.

“She wasn't wearing spandex. Had on a floppy down jacket.” I replied.

He again held up his hand for silence. After another moment, he said: “People are there now. She's moving. But she's hurt. Hit a barrier. Not the Berlin Wall, but some hay bails.”

Two hours later Barbara and I were sitting in the ground floor waiting room of the Vail Valley Medical Center. Waiting for some word on Janice. I'd already been into the little gift shop about five times and was now just bored. Bored and worried.

“Hey Barbara, see that picture there right to the left of the coffee machine? The three guys who started the Vail ski patrol?”

The picture showed an older guy on the left and two guys about thirty in ski patrol uniforms on the right. All of them looked like they really knew how to have a good time.

“I always liked those guys.”

“I used to tell Billie that she was lucky that guy on the far right was 80 or 90 years old now. Or else I'd be off with him in a heartbeat.”

“I like the guy in the middle.”

“Yeah, that was Billie's choice too.”

Somebody, a nurse or a doctor came out, looked around and then approached us and asked, “Are you Cupcake and Barbara?”.

“Actually, I'm Merriam”, I replied. “But yeah, we're who you're looking for.”

“Janice is in pretty bad shape. But she's lucky. She hit the barrier and has six broken ribs, but that seems to be all. No spinal damage, no concussion and no injured limbs. I mean, no broken arms or legs.”

“How long is she going to be in here?” I asked.

“Four or five days at least. But there could be pneumonia issues that would prolong the stay. And she's going to be laid up for a long time, even after she goes home.”

“When can we see her?” Barbara asked.

“Probably tomorrow.”

I turned to Barbara and said, “You stay with me Barbie and we'll come see her tomorrow”.

It was dark when we left the hospital. The trickles of melted snow across the parking lot were now turning to black ice. Crossing the lot we could hear the snow making and the groomers. The headlights of the Pisten Bullies were visible on the mountain. Heavy equipment moving on treads through a black, starless sky.

Barbara said, “She never fell and never got busted up. At least not until now. Eight years after it was all over.”

“I bet she doesn't have any health insurance. She wasn't making much and I could see her not buying that expensive Vail insurance. Would have given her an extra couple of hundred a month if she didn't.”

After a moment I continued, “Let's go to Montauk for seafood”.

“I'm broke.”

“I have a hundred bucks. That's enough if we're careful. Come on, we need something good in our lives.”

Barbara nodded in response, and then added, “Maybe they'll see who we are and comp us”.

“Nah, but we have a hundred bucks.”

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I like this tale of real people living their lives as best they can. I've never been to a ski lodge or tried skiing, so the setting and environment are foreign to me. Even so, your smooth, well-composed writing style makes it easy to follow along. I had to raise an eyebrow at the notion that early 40's was old. PLEASE, PLEASE let me be 42 again!

[Miss Fedelm]

In that life, 32 is old. It's a kids game. Thanks for reading. Glad you enjoyed it. I was trying to imitate Ann Beattie, who writes short stories in the New Yorker.

[Samuel Dickens]

I don't know who she is. It's like this: I'm often put off by what I think of as "poor writing." When I see clumsy sentences, illogical order of events, misspelled words, really messed up punctuation and general sloppiness, I usually abandon the read. Whatever your style is, it's as consumable as a glass of cold water.

[Miss Fedelm]

Nothing much ever happens in an Ann Beattie story. The dramatic events are not central. I just finished one about an old guy puttering around his yard thinking about his daughter and a tenant he likes who might have fooled around with an underage girl. Nothing happens in the story, but it really holds your interest for some reason. Just day to day life.

[Vivian Fisk]

Loved it, and now I have a new author to read, Ann Beattie. I just reserved six books from our local library system. Thanks. By the way, some of that work sounded HARD.

[Miss Fedelm]

Thanks for the read. Try "The New Yorker" stories for Ann Beattie.

[Vivian Fisk]

Yes, that's one of the books I reserved.

[Miss Fedelm]

There are some pictures for this story on my photo page.

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed this story. I would love this place. The great description and detail make the story come alive. Thank you Miss Fedelm for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

[Miss Fedelm]

Thank you for reading.

[Coyote Poetry]

I liked the people, location and the situation. You are welcome.

[Miss Fedelm]

I tried to put up another one that was very similar tonight, but it got bounced because it was 500 characters too long.

[Coyote Poetry]

If you write some new story. Please send me some read requests. I read everyone and I liked your style of writing.

[Miss Fedelm]

OK, but I am new to the site and don't know how to work it very well yet.

[Coyote Poetry]

After you friend someone. You touch read requests and the people you want to read. You can send request.