Chris and I went skiing on Monday.  It was a “blue-bird day,” but very cold — a forecasted high of 9 degrees.  Side note: I’d been skiing 22 years before I ever heard the term “blue-bird day,” which is apparently a very common skier’s term to describe a sunny day on the mountain.  Chris’s explanation was that the majority of those 22 years were spent skiing at Snoqualmie Pass.

Off the beaten path was pretty much an icy death, but the groomers were fun.  So we mostly stayed on the paved road and did plenty of straight-lining.  And something happened that makes sense but I never knew it was possible — we gave ourselves ice cream headaches from the speed and cold.  No crashes, no ice cream, just the super-cold air hitting the roof of the mouth.  It was awesome, in kind of a hurty, bitter-cold sort of way.

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