THE OBSERVATORY: Tubing Along

By William Clarke

The tow rope became tense. It signaled that an object of great mass was being pulled. That object was me-or I was part of the object.

I was at a ski mountain in Pennsylvania by the name of Camelback, a chilly vacation spot. I came with my brother, my two nephews, my 9-year-old son and the promise that I would be joining in the fun. Me being the adventurous type, I had jumped at the chance to go.

On the drive up, everyone was playing it cool. Even the kids wanted to appear as if they had done this plenty of times before. Some in the car had, but others (myself included) were total innocents. Really, I didn’t know anything about skiing. I just wanted to look like I did. I had actually only skied a few times about 20 years ago, before I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

Daybreak came and the morning sunlight crept into the modest motel rooms where we stayed-a real Mom and Pop establishment. “Great for families,” my brother assured us, as we unloaded the 4×4 the night before. “Real peaceful,” he added. As we approached the front desk that morning, we were greeted by “Pop.”

“They’re simple but clean,” he proudly boasted of his lodgings. It looked as though all handyman projects were handled by Pop and his neighbors.

The kids (my son and two nephews) were awake now, and each one was hungry. They told all of us adults that they were in the mood for silver dollar pancakes and bacon and big glass of chocolate milk to wash it down. They had a busy day ahead of them and they needed the energy. So off we went to breakfast.

The dining room was on the main floor about 20 steps down. So much for being just one of the gang, I thought. Thankfully, a stair climber was installed on this staircase just for people like me. After a hearty country breakfast of buttermilk hotcakes drowned in maple syrup and fresh percolated coffee, we headed for the slopes.

Or, I should say, they headed for the slopes. I headed for the lodge.

That afternoon, as I listened to a band play their rendition of “Free Bird” to a somber audience, I sipped my Jack and Coke and watched the others outdoors in the crisp, sunny air having a blast. My drink was getting warm. I was nursing it. Drinks were expensive and besides that, I don’t like to drink alone.

The lodge was stunning in the late afternoon sun. It was richly appointed with evergreen ornamentation. There was a kettle style fireplace with blistering embers. At the back of the chalet, a glass wall rose about twelve feet tall and it formed a peak. It was a perfect place to see the skiers negotiate the slopes.

Still I wanted to be part of the action. Later on, as dusk approached, lights pierced the darkening winter sky illuminating the slopes. About a quarter mile down the road, I found the solution to my dilemma: Snow tubing.

“Gee, I can handle this!” I exclaimed to my brother. As long as the ski crew allowed me, I was willing to give it a try. After they were satisfied with my fitness, I got up from my wheelchair and was helped into the tube. Everyone soon joined me after I was on board. My nine year old son said, “I’m glad you’re here Dad, because this will be scary and the tube goes really fast.”

That great object I mentioned above? That actually was my brother, my son, my two nephews, and me being dragged up the mountain by a huge machine.

It was a little dicey, undoubtedly. The tube spun like the teacup ride at an amusement park. At the bottom, a few onlookers who were sipping hot chocolate at the snack bar gave me the thumbs up sign as I was helped to dismount from our wild ride.

William Clarke is a United Spinal member who lives in Brooklyn, New York.