I think it's embarrassing story time. I'm kinda in a rut and haven't written anything that wasn't for a blog fest/hop for a while. In my “about me” section, (see tab above) I alluded to a stupid, ACCIDENTAL stunt, and now I'll come clean. I almost died peeing.
One of the most treacherous and frightening mountain passes in Colorado is called Berthoud Pass and connects I-70 (the main thoroughfare through the mountains, east to west) with the towns of Winter Park, Frasier, and on down the road on Colorado 40. It's a desolate place. There's one tiny town between I-70 and Winter Park, and it rolls up its sidewalks around 4:30 pm or so. So if you need to use the restroom, do it in Idaho Springs, and then consume nothing for the next two hours. This I've learned the hard way.
We are on one of our wonderful snowboarding trips with my Awesome Aunt Risky who has rented us a condo in Winter Park. Of course we have a late start on the trip up because the kids have to get off school and my Swissie has to finish work, so it's late and dark as we're making our way over the icy, snowy, did I mention DARK pass. I have to pee. I also know I have to hold it. But man, I've got to pee.
Finally, I ask my sister to pull into one of the slow traffic pull-offs. I know they have one foot stone walls to climb over, and then some semblance of privacy. After all, I have driven this road in daylight. Daylight is highly recommended. She pulls over. I climb over one foot wall. What I think is one foot wall. There's snow everywhere and the pull-off hasn't been plowed. It's rather hard to see...
I soon discover that while I have indeed climbed over a one foot wall, it's on to a tall cliff, an ice cliff, long way down, boulders, creek, and ice at the bottom. I'm sliding. I manage to dig my fists into the wall (once you crack through the inch or so of really crusty snow, you can get a hand hold. And foot holds.) I figure if I'm going to slip and fall down the cliff and die in the creek, I don't want to do it after peeing my pants, so I manage to get my pants down (I think you can imagine how hard this is while hanging on for dear life, but bodily functions sometimes take precedence). I gratefully finish my business.
How to get back up though? Remembering the rock climbing lessons I've watched Aunt Risky teach the boys, I know you only let go of one hold at a time. So slowly, punching my bare hands into that frozen cliff, I slowly make my way up. But there's a lot of sliding down, too, and I'm terrified, pants still not quite on, and really starting to freak out.
God is on my side though, and crying and gasping for air (we're at 12,000 feet or so here) I manage to throw myself over the wall and into the pull-off. I'm soaked (in SNOW!) having a good ole freakout fit of crying and screaming and trying to tell the story as I climb into the truck and she pulls away. At first she's laughing her ASS off, as you probably are too, but finally she realizes that I really was in danger, and gets eerily quiet. “Let's not tell the kids this one.” Fine by me...so I'd appreciate it if you didn't either ;-)