December 3, 2008 E-MAIL PRINT

Old dogs learn new tricks

by Marty Basch/

Progressive snowboard instruction has made riders out of sliders of all ages. (photo: Cranmore/Ski NH)

Progressive snowboard instruction has made riders out of sliders of all ages. (photo: Cranmore/Ski NH)

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You're north of 35 and want to learn to snowboard. Here’s a secret: Advil. Tylenol.

Learning to ride can be a painful experience. You can fall hard.
So, what can you do?

Take a pain reliever before you head for the slopes. Hopefully, the over-the-counter medicine will be pumping its magic through your body by the time gravity wins.

This knowledge was a long time in coming. Several years ago, I decided I wanted to try snowboarding. Let's make something clear. I've been skiing for a long time. But I liked the beauty of a snowboarder carving down the slope with the grace of a bird playing in the thermals.

So I took a snowboard lesson.

I was so beat up afterward, I swore I would never try it again.

The next year, my pain behind me, I took a snowboard lesson. I was so beat up, I swore I would never try it again.

So, the next year, my pain behind me, I took a snowboard lesson. I was so beat up, I swore I would never try it again.

Get the picture?

But I was determined. Three lessons wiser, I discovered the pain-reliever trick.

A snowboarding friend lent me a board. Head out on bluebird days, was his sage advice.

The three lessons had not been wasted. They had built a solid foundation for proper stance, hand placement and weight distribution. The lessons help you get a feel for the board, and I was able to get down the beginner slopes with the board perpendicular to the fall line.

About those beginner slopes: As a skier, I hadn't been on a bunny hill in years. As a goofy-footed snowboard riding wannabe, those same hills became the Grand Canyon, with out-of-control, wannabe skiers making a beeline for me as I knelt in the snow, mustering the courage to stand up so I could just fall down again.

Over time, I began to look like a falling leaf. My toe-side turns were coming into their own. My heel-side turns were preventing my advancement.

There is a moment in the art of the carve when a rider must commit the board to laying flat on the snow. The rider, on a heel-side turn, is blinded for a nanosecond and can't see where he or she is going. This frightened me. I was adept at looking like a gently falling leaf down the mountain, always favoring my toe-side turns, but I needed to make that turn to progress.

So it was, on a sunny, soft-snow day, I popped the meds and headed for the beginner chair lift. It was a good day. I had a 60 percent getting-off-the-lift-without-falling percentage. The wide slope combined with the straight fall line did wonders.

Then it happened.

I turned. I completed both a heel- and toe-side turn.

It was not pretty. It was not graceful. It was, though, cathartic.

I still snowboard and love the art of the carve. There are now progressive methods of snowboard instruction and even some upcoming free days (see Heather Burke’s piece on Family Skiing).

Old dogs can learn new tricks.
 

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