Here’s to Dodging Bullets in 2017

Echoes

I'm lucky to be here right now. I probably shouldn't be. I should probably be dead.

Dead from so many potential things. Yet I stand on a new day.

I suspect the same goes for you, dear reader. We've all had close calls. We've all run the gamut in one form or another.

Sure we've come a long way since swinging around in the treetops. Our life expectancy has gone from about 18 years in 2000 BC to around 78.74 now. But even in our highly evolved state our fragility makes us vulnerable to the smallest and biggest things.

Yes, consuming today's modern diet has pickled us and held off the diseases a bit but even an act as innocent as eating can take us down. Just last weekend I almost bit off more than I could chew and was wondering who at the party I should start gesticulating to, desperately needing the Heimlich maneuver pronto. But I swallowed and got away with it.

Aspen should certainly have gotten me by now but I have dodged all those bullets … the avalanches, the slips on the ice, the near misses on the highway, the overindulgences, the flights out of Sardy Field, etc.

In Buddhism they constantly remind us that we are all going to die. No one knows how or when but it's something we all share. This reminder is designed to scare us into appreciating this very moment that we have right now because every thing else is uncertain at best and potentially perilous at worst. Breathe.

So, if I had to come up with a New Year's resolution it would be to notice and appreciate that my fragile water sac continues to function at a fairly high level, despite my best efforts to extinguish it. Forget the nagging psoas major muscle. I'm alive. That very muscle nearly dragged me into the grave almost a year ago but now it's there to remind me to stretch, get to work, breathe and appreciate.

Even in the bosom of Aspen, danger lurks.

Back in the day I went out of bounds with a gang of gung-ho Japanese sushi chefs. These guys partied hard every night and skied even harder almost every day. Only one of our group of about seven was a really solid expert skier. The rest of them made up for their lack of skill with a determination to float powder turns that you don't find in most foreign relations.

That day I led the pack in hotdogging down the out of bounds terrain below Steeplechase on Aspen Highlands. I greedily sprang from the trees onto a lovely unblemished stretch of steep and deep, keeping my head quiet and my shoulders straight down the fall line, making constant sweeping turns. The 207 cm giant slalom skis dug in and then floated out in a familiar and wonderful rhythm.

Then I heard and felt a low rumbling. Avalanche! I dove into a tight patch of Aspens and blasted chest first into an stiff pillar of wood and bark, safe from the slide but hurt in the unforgiving embrace of a tree. My wind was gone. My ribs were cracked. But my friends were safely above the path of the chute. Snow boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles and as hard as concrete slabs littered the slope. I could have been killed!

My chefs did not really grasp the gravity of the situation and continued cutting up any open slope they could find, down to the road. I think they call it blissful unawareness. I was limping out and counting my blessings.

Last year we only had five deaths from avalanches here in Colorado. Recent history shows that we had 12 deaths in 1993 and 11 in 2013, so five is kind of a low number, unless you are one of the five. It's rare to have a season in Colorado with no avalanche deaths. We are all pretty safe in bounds but these are days of extreme sport. Staying in bounds is like a bunny hill experience to some of today's extreme skiers and riders.

Most of us have a pretty cavalier attitude about getting in a motor vehicle, either as a passenger or pilot. Some of us even do it after a few drinks or a few hits of wonderful, legal ganja. Sometimes we add to it a bit of texting or eating a big, dripping burger.

But it's a jungle out there. Statistically we are more likely to be killed on these rural roads than the pavement the city slickers drive. Statewide, in 2016 there were 3,705 highway traffic fatalities. Even when we do everything right … stow the phone … buckle the seat belt … stay sober and drive within the legal limits … there are no guarantees that the other guy or gal is doing the same. You have to watch out for the other guy.

Don't think you are any safer under the covers. People die from house fires, electrocution, TVs falling off the wall and slips in the shower. Living is dangerous.

Just the fact that the stars aligned to put us in this sweet spot in the first place is cause for celebration and appreciation. We are the fortunate ones. But that doesn't make us immune.

Steve Skinner wishes you all the best in 2017. Reach him at [e-mail].

Published 1.3.17 in the Aspen Daily News.

Steve Skinner's music is at steveskinner.bandcamp.com