Bartenders Corner

“Damn bartender,” I grumbled. “All I wanted was a beer to celebrate opening weekend.”

Having been a professional ski-bum for eight years, I knew how to do two things very well – find the free beer and drive roads better suited as GS courses. I was new to Snowbowl, so I hadn’t developed the bro-bra-beer connections yet. So, my pride was a little wounded when I couldn’t get a beer.

“But,” I consoled myself, “that’s o.k. I’m trying to quit smoking anyways.”

I climbed in my truck and entered the Snowbowl road GS course. “Conditions are perfect today,” I heard an imaginary commentator say. “But, only the most focused will make it to the finish line.” The only thing missing on this course were the gates. I guess that’s what the trees are for.

I exited the first set of turns in perfect form and entered the long straight stretch
before the infamous ‘bartenders corner’.

“Not another bartender,” I groaned.

I had heard of this corner but I wasn’t scared of no stinkin’ bartender. They may control the beer but they will never control my freedom! As my nemesis approached I gently pumped the brakes…

Too late! The bartender juked right. The rear end began to pass the front end. I counter steered. Nothing. I needed edges instead of tires on this brutal course. But the sharp corner was working to my advantage. My slide closely matched the turn. Maybe this bartender would give me a little lovin’.

Nope. I felt the front end drop. Then the whole truck got sucked off the edge. Branches clawed at my windshield, snow and brush jumped over my hood and little trees smacked off my brush guard. As the forest played pickup pinball, I bounced around in the cab like a ball in a spray-paint can. I screamed and cursed about my sobriety.

The truck stopped suddenly. I thanked everything from the Great Pumpkin to Buddha. The door wouldn’t budge so I rolled down the window and crawled out Dukes of Hazard style.

I gaped at my beat up truck like a neon Texan in a terrain park. This would have been much cooler with a buzz.

“Hey! Are you ok?” somebody shouted down from the road.

“Yea,” I shouted back. “I’m fine.”

“Do you need anything besides a ride to town?”

“I need a beer.”

“Sorry man, we don’t have any beer. Do you want a cigarette?”

I cursed bartenders everywhere for wounding my pride twice in a day and decided I’d quit smoking next week.