Sammamish, Washington, has been calling. Well, maybe not the town itself, but Dave has been every now and then. He's boasted of his snowmobile trips and the mountains outside his windows since moving out west, so when I realized that I would have a spring break to take off and go somewhere, my first choice was visiting my little brother to take a peak at the new life he had made for himself.
Tuesday was a day of travel, missing my connection at LAX, but being given a ticket aboard the next already-boarded flight. I arrived in Seattle with no baggage, but happy to be in the land of Dave.
The next morning the siblings had breakfast and then the bro was off to work, leaving me in my pj's catching up on what MTV and the like has to offer. Reclining with warm chai, I was sucked in by fifteen and sixteen year old's of mega rich parents whining about this and that, preparing for the biggest bling-bling of birthday parties. Worlds apart, I helped myself to a hot cider and mindlessly vegged a bit more till even my brain was tingly with stupification and the realization that the Peace Corps did not, unfortunately, make me a rich woman.
Deciding the need to get on with life was now detrimental, I stood and stretched, empty mug in hand, while gazing out of the front of the big sliding doors to his A-frame abode. Given directions before Dave skedaddled off to pay for his fun-filled life, I changed into picture perfect 'I'm an outdoor runner that could be in an ad' clothes, armed with motivational iPod, and was soon out the door. I was told of a path past a roundabout and down a hill, so I headed in the general direction and hoped for treasure.
My first 'Welcome to Sammamish' came when I wanted to cross the street. A simple task on an albeit none to busy road. Or at least it should have been. I came to the road, and seeing there was traffic to my right, waited with my hands behind my back, hoping to display the fact that I was in no rush and was more than happy to wait. Then this truck, two gentlemen inside, stopped. I flagged them with my hand to go ahead, but they just smiled and kept their truck in it's spot. If there had been a puddle, they would have laid across it, so sure was I that in this magical land chivalry was not dead. With just seconds passing, both lanes of traffic had stopped, four to five cars on each side waiting for me to cross. Feeling ridiculously perplexed and what I thought was the complete kindness of strangers, I spanned the lane in swift steps, an embarrassed smile squeezed onto my lips. (It was later that I learned that there are different rules governing pedestrians out here and, that low and behold, I'm not that special.)
Down the hill and to the right, like the start of the yellow brick road, there was the trail, nonetheless magical in the journey it would take me on. With my 'On-the-Go' mix playing, I started jogging with the beat. The gravel crunched beneath my feet as the cool air made my skin tingle.
The lake to my side, I followed it's contour while taking in vegetation and homes built by people who I imagined to be laying in beds cuddled up with loved ones, laughing over secret jokes while drinking steaming cups of yumminess. I passed wetland areas and was surprised by bamboo, taking me suddenly to China, briefly wondering just how magical this trail really was.
With the run over, my hike back up to Dave's commenced, a journey that seemed oh so much easier on the way down.
And so was Thursday, more or less the same, made up of some cable, running and hiking, e-mails and calls to friends from other distant, but stateside, lands.
Friday morning - round two of Amanda versus the outdoors. At this point score is Amanda 1: Outdoors 0.
Dave and I headed out just after eight in the morn to Stevens Pass, a ski center an hour and a half north of Sammamish. As we headed through the pass and farther north, the snow became deeper and deeper, walls of snow along either sides of the road hovering over us as if to protect us from what lay behind its barrier.
Once at Stevens, I was in line with all of the other 'rentals'. The last time I had skied was in Norway and a few years ago, so while I tried on my boots the excitement and nervousness at hitting some major snow started to rise.
I started with the beginner hill to get my ski legs back. The first run was stiff, my arms and legs to nervous to bend. The second run was that of letting go and remembering just how much I loved the way careening down a mountain made me feel.
Within no time at all, I was golden. iPod in my pocket, I geared up. Only one bud in, mind you. I put on my 'Wanna Drive' mix, the songs that make me want to take speed and danger by the horns and laugh all the way down. Dave guffawed. I retorted with 'I wanna feel a rock star,' and laughed at myself, trying to play off just how serious I was. I played Dada and Modest Mouse, songs from my brother's snowboarding and skiing movies that I used to watch while growing up of pros and extremists jumping, carving, going at it with nothing but edge and hard. I carved down as hard as I could, the music pushing me, mellowing me out, putting me into a groove with the skis, snow, and hill that can only be felt. It was amazing.
Of course there were the falls, mostly easy and stupid, leaving me laughing hard and out loud at myself, bring smiles and laughs to Dave. There was one that was hard and not in a good way. Skis, while trying to carve, stuck, taking my body over and fast ninety degrees till my head and neck slammed sideways into the hill. I didn't laugh after that one. It hurt. But I got back up, moved my neck around, and continued back down the hill while thinking of the song 'Leave Me Lying Here' by Veruca Salt.
After more runs and trying out countless tracks, we ventured off down into the trees. It was gorgeous. Snow hung in piles on branches, on clumps of pine needles, like daredevils hired to perform for Suzy Snowflake.
We looked to where we had gotten ourselves and then to each other, and with that Dave gave me a reassuring, "I'll led the way," and we were off. My first attempt in powder that deep, of which I've never skied in, took me down as if someone had pushed me over into a huge feather pillow.
After I stopped laughing at myself trying to get up, a few futile attempts, and I was finally on both skis, I started down. It was tricky and so much harder than I would have ever thought. A lot of the time through those trees was spent going from one short point to another, trying to miss trees (and smacking my body against them), half crouched down lower than I thought I still could, and then sliding down on my butt, kid style. Man, was I relieved to get outta there, but I sure did feel pretty proud of myself once I was.
It was a great day of powder, music, skiing, and boarding. I loved watching Dave make his way down, carving up fresh snow between trees and around the mountain. Most of the time I think my music was really playing for him.
Saturday - round three. Score so far - Amanda 2: Outdoors 0.
Up and at 'em early once again, we dressed for the elements and drove a second time through the pass to Gold Creek where we were to meet up with a friend of Dave's to snowmobile for the day. I was stoked, as I grew up snowmobiling, whether it was being pulled in a sled with Dave while Dad drove us through snow drifts when we were shorties or later on trails in Illinois and Wisconsin, then later in Alaska. Plus, it's been on my 'Soak Up Americana' list since I've been back in the States, so I was thrilled I'd finally get to ride again.
With the sleds ready, avalanche beckon on and shown how to use, and Dave making sure I remembered which was the gas and the break (come on), we were off down a trail that tucked us back into the woods of mountains. The scenery was much like the other day - snow laden trees, mountains everywhere - but with the added hum of the machines whizzing through the forest.
We rode, me in the middle, the least experienced, going fast and tucking into turns. I followed my brother and stood up for the first time on a sled, an act that looked difficult, but made bumpy riding easy and made me feel tougher, cooler.
And then we came to a hill fresh with powder, not a track to be seen, and was then informed that it would be 'play time'. This is when I realized that what I had been doing all of my life was 'driving' snowmobiles. It's one thing to follow a path, push the gas, grab the break, but what these guys were doing was extreme and what I would be trying to attempt to some degree over the next few hours.
I watched as the guys played, cutting through snow, sending it up and over them, momentarily disappearing time and time again in clouds of white. They made it look easy, like it was just a matter or turning here and putting your legs there. Such skill and guts. I was impressed. It was a side of my little brother, this extreme side that I had heard about but never seen, which silently held me in awe.
Jealous of their game and itching to try, I made my way around the hill this way and that, then had my very first "I'm stuck." It was my first, something I was told I should be proud of, because "If your not getting stuck you aren't riding."
After a few more attempts I finally made it up the hill, gunning it, guts blazing, and threw my arms up in victory as soon as I reached the top. It felt incredible. Such a high.
We headed back on the trail, only to leave it again for more off-the-path fun. A few times the guys went ahead and set a track for me, knowing that I'd have difficulty. I was grateful, as getting stuck a few times is a hoot, but when it keeps happening time and time again, well, I'm competitive, even as a beginner, and it's damn annoying.
We made our way again to hills of powder, places of fun, where I tried ripping out my fear and going at it. I threw my body this way and that, legs switching from one side to another as I turned the sled. I could feel every muscle working with the snowmobile, flexing and straining, as powder flew or covered me. I attempted another hill, only to have the sled tip half way, forcing me to bail. Legs facing uphill, I flipped over like Dave had showed me, and got up and started running after my righted and slowly sliding sled. I immediately hopped on, like in a rodeo, and tried turning only to be out of breath and knackered to the point that I gave in to my lack of energy and bailed off backwards into the thick snow. I heard the guys hooting and hollering for me, for going at it, for not stopping or giving in. Looking up into the sky, I smiled.
The friend had earlier said, "Hats off to you." "You're rockin', as Dave said. I didn't feel like I was doing that great, wanting to do so much better, but for a first timer in such stuff, I was assured that I was impressing people in my own right.
Sunday - round four. Amanda 3: Outdoors 0.
One more day of play and one that I was really looking forward to. We were going cross-country skiing! I love nordic skiing, love the calm of it, the quiet swishing, the rythm the body takes to move itself over trails and through paths.
Through the pass for the last time during my stay, Dave and I headed Snoqualmie Nordi Ski Center, bought tickets, checked out routes, were given recommendations, and then headed off to head up the mountain.
To get up to where we needed to go, we had to strap on our skies and take the lift up. We stood in line, gobbs of people in tow and waiting, our long and skinny skiies seeming very out of place. Closer to the lift, a guy asked if he could join my brother and I up, to which Dave replied, "Sure, man, but we haven't skied in awhile, so it's at your own risk." I didn't think too much of this till I forgot to tip my skies up after sitting in the lift and almost lost both of them, or worse, could've been pulled right out of the seat. At the top, both of us wondering how we would do at getting off, worries were put aside when skies were put to the ground and both of us came to a stand still while still up right.
Once we found out where we were headed, we were off finding our rythms. The scenery, even though it was more of the same, seemed just as stunning, as if it were the first time.
After awhile we had to decide again where to go, and with the help and input of others, we decided to do a longer trail and started on our way. The wind whipped across my face and body as I kept a steady pace. We entered avalanche territory, which made me a little nervous, but the scenery soon stole away my imagination as Dave and I kept glidding.
We talked intermittently as Dave and I rode along, then left spaces in between when one or the other would pick up the pace, stop to adjust hat or gloves, or rest to enjoy the view. My mind kept wandering as we passed between trees, over small hills, and then carrened down without effort.
This was unlike any other nordic trip I had been on. Holding true to the weekend, more extreme, difficult than I had done before. Jinxing myself, thoughts of "This isn't too bad," came to my head before I had any right to do so. I asked for it.
Before long we had reached the track of black, all downhill skiing. At first it was hiliarious as Dave and I both attempted to plow down the hill with our narrow skiies. It was hard, harder than it looked or we both thought. We started taking turns falling, neither of us able to help ourselves or each other. It was a tragicially, funny sight. We both took turns and then in unison laughed together, a few times so hard that I was laughing until the next fall. At one spill, Dave landed in a pill of snow. Laughing, he joked that the snow had come after him. I could not stop laughing!
But then I did stop laughing. I stopped when I couldn't stop falling, and the light, fun, falls passed over to 'Ouch! That hurts!' landings. 'I signed up for Nordic skiing. What is this?' my head couldn't help but shout. I had two tough falls, one time twisting my ankle, the next on my thumb, and there and then took off my skies and resigned to walk. I was getting more and more tired and hurt with each fall, and I didn't want to be stubborn only to get hurt worse. As it was, my thumb was throbbing.
While I walked, Dave decided to take nordic skiing to the extreme and ventured off into the powder, butting off some of the trail. Others watched as he made his way down. I looked on with a smile and hidden worry. One guttsy kid, that boy!
Luckily for me, and with not too much walking, the trail leveled out enough for me to put my skies back on and enjoy the rest of the journey.
Unfortunately, after this one, the score tipped a bit. Amanda 3: Outdoors 1. (I'd even consider giving another point cause that black section was HARD!)
Monday. Mother Earth apparently felt bad about my hardship while skiing (or so I'd jokingly like to think), as at the half-way point in my long run I spotted two deer, a doe and calf, not fifty feet from me. Breathing hard, I stopped and watched them watch me.
Final score. Amanda 4: Outdoors 1.
Besides the outdoor activities of which my brother made happen, Dave and I enjoyed countless international meals, like yummy Indian, fab Mexican, Japanese, Thai, and even Crotian. (He has nicknamed me 'The Ever Consuming Fire' since his visit to see me in China for a reason.) Besides food, we danced in our seats to Queen, laughed with and at each other, played cards, and watched movies of which made me jump, squirm, and hide under my blanket. We talked about work, life, dating, and stuff he would hate for me to share.
Dave took me to the airport today after lunch. We hugged, said our goodbyes, and then I needled my way into line. I didn't want to go. I looked back only to find him gone, the visit suddenly over.
I had the best time, probably more than he would ever realize even with all of my thanks and expressions of what a great time I had had. As always. Granted, I loved all of the trips and such, but the key factor was the little brother to share all of the moments with.
Back at home with bruises from handle bars and countless falls, a stiff neck, and thumb that will only partially move, I can still hear my brother's laughter and see his smile.
That morning family and friends trickled into the lounge area, introductions made or familiar laughter shared over cups of coffee, then breakfast. I hugged and talked with Lindsey, Brian, and the other Peace Corps people that had traveled far and wide for the event, not to mention family members and friends that I was finally meeting after countless stories shared while in China.
The views were wonderful, the scent of pine relaxing, the laughter of friends, heart-lifting. Everyone talked and caught-up with each other, most of us not having seen each other for a year or two, then meeting and getting to know Lindsey and Brian's friends for the first time. For me, the best part of the hike was watching my two friends, my Panzhihua family, just hours before their wedding as they shared jokes and looks of love. 
With practice deemed over for the time being, I talked with Lindsey's mom and soon jumped in on the preparations for the reception. Lindsey grew up loving rock candy and so after being shown by her mom, I put the sticks into arrangements of sugary crystals of color which would later be put on all of the tables. I had never seen or heard of decorations so personal and fitting. 
