An hour later, the little blue car rounded a high mountain curve; spread out before them was Lake Tahoe, surrounded by high snow-capped mountains.
“There it is!” exulted Sam.
“Where’s Heavenly?”
“Right down by the lake,” Sam pointed. “It’s just a couple miles from the Nevada border.” It took another half hour as he carefully negotiated the winding descent into the valley. Minutes later, the two students pulled into a crowded parking lot outside the huge ski area.
“I’m glad we didn’t have to put chains on,” Bucky remarked, as the two boys unloaded skis, poles, boots, and heavy ski overalls.
“That’s for sure. Those things are murder to install.” He zipped up his jacket. “Ready?”
It took nearly half an hour to get tickets at the crowded window. Carefully affixing the discounted school passes to their jackets, the boys made their way to the main lift that would take them up to the various ski areas.
“Someone told me that there are about six good runs over on the left face,” Sam suggested. “You think we ought to try there first?”
“Sure.”
Already the lift lines were starting to lengthen, but the huge lifts were operating smoothly, and before long Bucky and Sam were dangling high in the air from a two-skier chair. “This is great!” Bucky grinned. Even though no one had picked up when he called home, the dull ache from yesterday’s argument was beginning to fade.
“Yeah, I’m glad we could come.” Sam’s brown eyes sparkled in the crisp mountain air.
“Too bad Lisa couldn’t. Did you hear that she got the flu over the weekend?”
“Yeah. Too bad. Better watch out, Stone. I think that woman has her eye on you!” Sam teased. The chair lift approached the unloading zone before Bucky could think of an appropriate reply.
The morning hours passed quickly as the pair sampled the various slopes. One intermediate run had a short, makeshift ski jump, and Sam and Bucky took several turns trying to negotiate a successful landing.
“Man, that’s a great ride!” Bucky exulted as they reached the bottom of the hill.
Sam chuckled. “You’re easy to please. You haven’t landed on your feet once off that jump.”
“It’s still a blast.” Bucky’s ski overalls were covered with snow, and his sunglasses were damp with melted flakes. He grinned. “After lunch let’s come back here. I’m gonna hit that jump until I make it.”
“Or your skis break in two.”
The two skiers headed down the steep lower hill toward the main parking lot and the ski lodge.
“You brought a lunch, didn’t you?” Sam asked as they reached the lodge area and began taking off their skis. “
“Yeah. I put it in the locker. What about you?”
“Nah. I’ll just get something inside.”
Stomping the snow off their boots, the famished pair headed indoors. A crowded lunch counter was doing a brisk business with a cheerful throng of skiers and onlookers who were busy eating and comparing notes.
“Grab a table,” Sam suggested. “I’ll go pick up some food.”
Bucky sat down at a long table. At the far end, three older boys hungrily wolfed down an enormous meal. He pulled out his homemade lunch, said a brief blessing, and began to eat.
Moments later, Sam rejoined him. “This place is expensive,” he complained. “Eleven bucks for this junk. And look at this burger! It’s raw.”
The boys ate quickly, eager to get back out on the ski slopes. Outside the glass-walled lodge the sun sparkled brightly on the snow-crested hills.
“How you guys doin’?” The big skier at the end of the table nodded toward Sam and Bucky.
“Awesome!” Bucky stuffed his wrappings into the brown sack and picked up his gloves. “We’re about ready to hit it again.”
“Did you try Devil’s Run?”
Both boys shook their heads. “No way,” Sam grimaced. “That’s too lively for my blood.”
The bearded sportsman grinned. “Go for it this afternoon,” he advised. “It’s fantastic. And it’s really not that hard. It’s marked Advanced but a good intermediate skier should have no problem.”
He stacked up several empty beer cups strewn on the table in front of him. “Well, lunch is over.” He glanced down at the empty cups. “Liquid lunch, that is.” He laughed.
One of the beer cups was still half full. The older skier held it unsteadily for a moment, then shook his head. “Guess I’ve had enough. You guys want this?”
Bucky quickly shook his head. Sam looked at Bucky briefly, then held out his hand. “Yeah, I’ll take it.”
Bucky looked startled. “What are you doing?” he whispered harshly.
Sam ignored him and gulped down the sudsy liquid. “Having half a beer. What’s the big deal? Do you want some of it?”
“No.” Bucky shook his head again. “I didn’t know you drank beer.”
“Oh, I’m a regular alkie.” Sam tossed the now-empty cup into a trash container. “Maybe one beer every six months. Like I said, what’s the big deal? Come on, let’s go.”
Bucky was silent as they headed out to the main lift line once again. After they were safely on the chair on the way up the hill he finally spoke. “Sam, I . . .”
“I know I know I know,” Sam interrupted. “The beer. I didn’t mean to do something that would offend your precious sensibilities. Don’t worry about it; it won’t happen again.”
Bucky looked pained. “I don’t want to be telling you what to do,” he protested. “It’s just – I really think drinking is wrong. Plus, just plain dumb. No offense,” he added quickly. “And at our age it’s also illegal.”
Sam shook his head impatiently. “Don’t start up with me! It was just one beer, and I really don’t want to hear it.”
An awkward pause filled the space between them. A moment later he spoke again. “Let me ask you something. Is this just you, or is it your jet-hot religion again?” His voice had an edge to it.
Bucky hesitated. “Both, I guess. It’s true – where I go to church, they really expect us to lay off booze.”
Sam snorted. “That’s some religion, dude. You can’t try a beer. You walk out of the dance after two songs. What else can’t you do? Can you ski without crossing yourself every three minutes?”
Bucky sat up straight in the lift chair, ignoring the sarcastic outburst, and looked directly at Sam. “All right, let me ask you something. Do you know what percentage of beer drinkers turn into alcoholics? How many people die every year from drinking?”
“Just let it go.” Sam gave him an impatient wave of the hand.
“No way. You had your say, and that’s fine. Now it’s my turn, man. Go on. How many people croak because of booze? Got any idea?”
“No.”
“And how many homes are wrecked over it? Marriages splitting up. Kids left without a dad. How many suicides? Or highway deaths?”
Sam shook his head. “Beats me. Plenty, I suppose. Booze can be bad – with the wrong people drinking it. Granted. What’s that got to do with me, Sam Nguyen, drinking one beer? And what’s it got to do with your religion?”
Bucky winced. “Man, I don’t want to preach you.”
“Oh, go ahead,” Sam retorted with a tight little grin as he tried to regain the upper hand in the debate. “I can take it.”
Bucky sighed. “God wants to spare you from all the pain in this world. You never know when you take that first beer where you might end up – an alcoholic, a victim of a broken marriage, or maybe dead on the freeway. So he says, ‘I love you and I want you to miss all of that.’ I guess it’s as simple as that.”
Sam was unconvinced. “Lighten up, Bucky. I mean, really. One beer – one half a beer – isn’t going to do all of that. Give me a break here.”
“I’ll tell you something else,” Bucky said, undeterred. He shifted his body in the chair lift, trying to organize his ideas. “I want to always be open to God, to . . . to be ready to understand what he
wants for me to do. And the only way he has of getting through to me is through my mind. I guess you could say that’s his telephone line. Even one beer would be enough to keep me from being able to pick up on whatever he’s trying to communicate to me. I don’t ever want that to happen.” He gestured with a mittened hand for emphasis.
Sam looked at him curiously. “Man. It means that much to you?”
“Yeah.”
“And your whole life, for the next seventy years, you’re not going to have one swallow of beer, not a single time, go into your body? Even if the Forty-Niners win the Super Bowl?”
“Nope.”
Sam shook his head. “You’re too much, man. That’s all I can say.”
Bucky shifted his poles to his left hand as the final lift pole loomed ahead. “Here we are.”
“Boy, just in time,” Sam grunted. Suddenly he gave a short burst of laughter, his usual cheerful self returning as he prepared to dismount from the chair. “I had a feeling the Bible lecture was about to begin. Got any PowerPoint to go with your sermon?”
“Yeah, you lucked out,” Bucky nodded, relieved and a bit ashamed of his overzealous diatribe, as the two boys skied toward the downward trail.
Around mid-afternoon the clear skies disappeared and dark clouds began to gather overhead. “Looks like some snow,” Sam observed, inspecting the heavens. “That’s too bad. It’s been perfect so far.”
“So what? We can still keep skiing. What’s a little snow?”
Within the next half hour it became apparent that there was going to be more than just a little snow. Huge snowflakes filled the air and swirled around the skiers still on the slopes, making it difficult to see more than a few yards ahead.
“Should we go in?” Sam asked Bucky as they arrived at the bottom of one difficult run.
“Naw, it’s not that bad. Let’s do this one again.”
On the next run down, Bucky navigated cautiously through a section of steep moguls, then allowed himself to speed up dramatically on the steep incline on the side of the mountain.
Suddenly, an unexpected bank, nearly invisible in the snowfall, caught Bucky’s ski tip and upended the young athlete. Spinning crazily on his back, he slid down the steep incline for what seemed an eternity before finally coming to rest in a pile of snow on the edge of the groomed trail.
Sam skied over and slid to a halt, concern written on his face. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” Bucky grunted. “That one was nasty! I couldn’t see that soft snow back there. Man, I lost both of my skis on that one.”
“That’s what bindings are for,” Sam said pointedly. “If your skis hadn’t come loose on that fall you’d have broken your leg for sure.”
“I suppose.” Bucky took a deep breath. “Well, no sense relaxing here in this easy chair. Guess I better try to get my skis back on.”
Putting his skis back on proved to be easier said than done. The skis seemed to have a mind of their own on the icy surface. Every time he got a ski lined up and a heavy boot poised to insert into the bindings, the ski would begin sliding downhill.
“Stay put!” Bucky ordered in irritation, as the skis slid away from him for the fourth time.
Sam laughed. “Good thing you have those safety straps on, otherwise, your skis would be long gone and you’d be hiking to the lodge.”
“Very funny!” Bucky growled. Several minutes went by as he carefully lined up the skis once again, perpendicular to the slope of the hill. Again he tried to ease a boot into its bindings, but now the snow caked on the bottom of his boot made it impossible for the binding to lock securely in place. The binding closed on empty air and the uncooperative ski began to make its way downhill.
“Shall I call a taxi for you?” Sam joked.
Something in Bucky’s head snapped. The combined effect of stubborn skis, aching muscles, snow down his collar, and Sam’s irritating superiority was too much.
“Shut up,” he snapped, adding an expletive for good measure.
The harsh words hung in the cold air. Sam stood motionless, his face a mask, staring at his friend in shocked disbelief. Suddenly he began to laugh. Deep body-shaking chuckles. Sitting down on his skis in the deep snow, he wagged his head back and forth, still laughing heartily.
“Bucky said a bad word; Bucky said a bad word,” he recited in a singsong voice. He laughed again. “Man, that was fantastic. I didn’t think you had it in you. You’re part of the real world after all.”
Remorse flooded Bucky’s body, the anger seeping away as though a balloon had been untied inside him.
“Sam, I didn’t . . . I don’t . . .” He paused and shook his head. “Man, I’m sorry. I had no business yelling at you and saying what I said. Will you forgive me?”
Sam stopped laughing abruptly. He stood up and maneuvered his skis over until he was next to Bucky. He looked at him for a long moment. “It’s OK,” he said finally. “Gee whiz, you’re too much. Don’t worry about it.” He planted his poles in the snow. “Here, let me help you get these stupid skis on and let’s get outta here.”
Without further words, the two boys skied to the bottom of the run. The snowfall was even heavier now, and a steady stream of skiers headed toward the comfort of the main lodge.
Sam jerked his head toward the parking lot. “Had enough? I think we oughta quit.”
“I don’t know,” Bucky responded. His face was still flushed from the earlier episode. “I think I’d like one more go.”
“Tomorrow’s another day,” Sam urged. “And it’s snowing pretty heavy, dude.”
“I know.” Bucky looked down at his feet for moment and then made up his mind. “I think I’ll have one more quick run. I don’t mind going alone, Sam, I’ll meet you in the lodge.”
The older boy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Bucky made his way over to the lift loading area and got into the short line. With the thinning crowds, skiers weren’t expected to pair up for the ride up the mountain, and he gratefully accepted a seat by himself.
“We close in fifteen minutes,” the lift operator repeated to each skier, “so this’ll be the last run today.”
Deep in thought, Bucky rode up the mountainside, looking down at the nearly empty white landscape passing below him. Suddenly he realized he had unfinished business to attend to. “Dear Lord,” he murmured, not realizing he was speaking aloud, “please forgive me for what happened back on that last run. For losing my temper and saying what I did. Here I’m trying to share you with Sam, and I sure messed it up. I was too preachy . . . and then this. Please help me to do a better job of representing you.” He looked up. The lift dismount area was coming up fast. “And thank you for your love,” he added quietly.
He had barely started his run when he realized that perhaps Sam had been right. It would have been better to save this run for tomorrow. In the gathering darkness, the heavy snowfall was like a blanket, obscuring the landscape and cutting visibility to nearly zero.
Carefully, Bucky made his way down the empty ski trail. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, his left binding gave way and the ski came loose. Baffled, Bucky slid to a stop. His slow rate of descent kept him from even falling down, but he felt that familiar feeling of frustration welling up once again. These idiot skis!
As he bent over, he heard a faint sound off the trail to the left. He stood still, listening.
“Help!”
Chapter Twelve: Ski Accident
Bucky cocked his head. Was he hearing things? He pulled off his woolen hat so he could hear more clearly.
“Anybody out there?” His voice seemed to be swallowed up in the heavy snowfall. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes! Help me!” The cry was fainter, desperate.
It was difficult to pinpoint where the voice was coming from in the gathering darkness, but it seemed to be off to the left of the trail.
“Hold on! I’m coming.” Bucky quickly put his ski back on. This time it seemed to slip on almost by itself. Gingerly, he began snowpl
owing in what he hoped was the right direction.
“Can you hear me?” he called again.
“Yes. Over here.” The voice seemed closer this time.
Bucky moved forward eagerly.
“Down here.” It was a girl’s voice and seemed to be coming from behind a large overhang of granite that jutted from a nearby snowbank.
He skied awkwardly through the deep powder. Just on the other side of the rock he caught a glimpse of a jacket. He sucked in his breath. It was a girl from his school! And she was in serious trouble.
“You’ve got a broken leg!” he blurted.
“I know,” she whispered, fear and exhaustion plainly written on her face.
Trying to calm himself, he said, “We go to the same school, but I don’t know your name.”
“Bonnie.”
“I’m Bucky.” Stepping out of his bindings, he knelt down beside her. “What happened?”
“I took a shortcut through this hollow, and had a bad spill here at this rock.” She gritted her teeth. “My bindings didn’t come loose, and my leg got all twisted up. It really is broken, isn’t it?”
Bucky put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m no doctor but, yeah, I’d say from the looks of it that you broke it pretty good.” He looked around him. “How long have you been lying here?”
“Over an hour,” she responded in a small voice. Overcome with pain and emotion, she began to cry softly.
Bucky patted her self-consciously. “Don’t worry,” he soothed. “We’ll get outta here somehow.” He sat thinking for a moment. “Bonnie, I think I better go back to the main trail and try to flag someone on his way down the hill. The lifts are probably closed by now, and if we don’t get word to somebody down below we may be here a long time.”
“No!” She clung to his jacket sleeve in desperation. “Don’t leave me here.”
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” he promised, trying to sound calm. “It’s the only way we can get someone to come help us out of here.” Gently, he loosened her grip on his ski jacket. “I’ll be right back,” he promised again.
Her hand dropped. “OK. But hurry!”
Slipping into his skis, Bucky headed back toward the main trail. By now, it was almost completely dark. What if no one was still on the slopes? Fear tugged at the corners of his mind.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 8
