Vail Mountain—the perfect vacation spot for ski lovers like my husband, John, and me. From our chair on the ski lift, I watched the evergreens pass underneath. Suddenly I felt something wet hit my head. Thick icy snow ran down my face and onto my lap. More and more fell from the sky. Sleet!
Forget hitting the slopes! We skied off the lift and looked for shelter. There was none. The ice coated my goggles. I took them off and squinted between my gloved fingers. Nothing but white. “I can’t see a thing, can you?” I asked John.
He shook his head. We needed to get off this mountain, now. But how? What if we skied off a cliff?
A short woman in a bright blue parka skied up next to us. “I know the way,” she said. “Follow me.”
She must be a member of the ski patrol, I thought. We fell in line behind the woman, skiing slowly to stay together. Finally, the slope started to level out. As abruptly as the storm started, it ended.
John and I cheered. We slowed to a stop, turned to each other and hugged. Then I looked to thank our guide.
We had a clear view all the way down the slope to the village. But we couldn’t spot her. There was no skier in a blue parka. In fact, there were no skiers below us at all.
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