I miss Spalding Gray. I never knew him personally, but I loved what he wrote. I also miss my copy of his book, It’s a Slippery Slope, which used to be on my bookshelf. From one skier to another, regardless of your skill level, I highly recommend that you read it. Go buy a copy. I’d lend you mine, but it’s currently–in the best scenario–on someone else’s bookshelf or–in the worst scenario–lodged between a wall and a bed mattress somewhere in North America, depending on who borrowed it.
I am not going to ruin the story because (a.) I haven’t read it recently and cannot remember all the details enough to give a proper synopsis; and (b.) even if I could remember the details, my version would be completely inferior to the original work. Plus, it’s short, so you could probably read the entire book in a couple hours.
I will tell you this: it’s a memoir that involves, among other things, Spalding’s desire to learn how to ski. (There are many New England references.) I have no recollection of not skiing; no personal anecdote of looking at a ski trail and being mesmerized by the unfamiliarity of it. That’s part of what Spalding shares. But, really, it’s his right turn that has stayed with me the most since I first read the book. You see, he finally gets his nerves and his chance to try skiing, and all he can do is turn right.
You are probably not laughing right now at the thought of this which goes back to (b.) my delivery. Sorry about that. But, promise me, you’ll at least consider my recommendation to read his book.
Then sometime soon, in a future blog post perhaps, I’ll dissect the necessary components of making a left turn.
PS: If you haven’t figure it out on your own, at this point, you should be more excited about reading It’s a Slippery Slope than reading my future blog post about left hand turns. I mean, I probably won’t actually write about that.