Lyman was fool enough to go up the mountain Monday after 20-25 years without much practice. He had a rough time Monday, though he didn't fall. He wound up in some flat places where he wore himself out poling along. Whatever run he took, it took him four hours to come down. At points he thought about asking the ski patrol to bring him down. David said he would have been welcome to come along with me for a while, but Lyman went out later than I did,and didn't know where to find us.

We were both so tired that we took Tuesday off and went into town. It's a pretty little place. Clean as a whistle. And I know it's a service town where people make money by being friendly, but doesn't anyone ever have a bad day? And the guests are courteous. Everyone who got off the buses yesterday thanked the drivers.

One of the places we visited was the Tread of Pioneers Museum. There were lots of interesting things to look at there, but I was most interested in the part devoted to the history of skiing. The fellow who started this place's ski industry was a Norwegian named Carl Howelsen, also known as "The Flying Norwegian". He built the first ski jump here. You should see the early skis he wore, much like a two-by-four with the front end planed upward with a single leather binding laced over the instep. He must have been some kind of skier.

We also went to a funky little second-hand bookstore that occupied three rooms up a steep flight of stairs. Lyman and I found a couple of novels and a book of lullabyes for Lucy. The store was a great little place, but I can't imagine that it makes much money.

An interesting thing about the crossing lights in town -- they display a countdown of the seconds available when pedestrians cross the street, which I found helpful as we eased our sore selves through town.

It's time to put some of that expensive instruction to use. How I dread putting those boots on. Later.