Graduation - going out in style. Sort of.

Due to circumstances that would take too long to explain, I took four and a half years to graduate from Middlebury. So instead of graduating in May of '95, I actually graduated in February of '96, and therefore got to do the "Feb" graduation ceremony.

To explain for those not familiar - Middlebury has its own mountain and ski area, called the Snow Bowl. February graduation is a very informal sort of affair, culminating in a ski down the mountain to receive your diploma.

Small problem. I don't ski. Never learned, despite growing up in Maine and then attending a college in the middle of Vermont with its own damn mountain. I usually spent the winter in intense coursework, and was usually broke anyway.

For those of us in that position, we were offered a free skiing lesson/day pass during January to learn how to make it down the mountain without bodily injury. I learned how to point my skis in the proper direction and slow down enough to make it down the bunny slope and accept my diploma. I even started to get the hang of it enough to try to show off a bit to a cute freshman who I'd seen getting her first lesson too.

(It didn't work. Suffice it to say, my showing off ended with me in a snowbank being laughed at by said freshman. I called it a day shortly thereafter.)

Graduation day arrived, we sat through the short ceremony at Mead Chapel, and then everyone trundled over to the Middlebury Snow Bowl to ski down. I sat down on the lift next to Scott DeVries, another first-time skier who happened to be from Iowa. I hadn't seen him for a while, so we chatted on the lift up, not paying a great deal of attention to the fact it was a different lift than the one we'd used for our lesson.

There was a great deal of commotion, with someone shouting out from the ground, "Hey - I just taught him to ski last week! Someone make sure they get down! They missed the midpoint!"

Apparently we were supposed to get off the chairlift at the midpoint of the mountain. We failed, and were now on our way up to the very top of the Black Diamond trail at the top of the Snow Bowl.

Fear began to sink it. The terrain changed - rocky crags and howling winds snapped at our robes. The temperature dropped. This was terra incognita - we were off the map and on our own.

(Yes, Midd people, I'm aware the Snow Bowl's Black Diamond trail is considered mild even by East Coast standards. Remember - one ski lesson. Ever.)

Two people were with us at the top of the mountain, and one immediately skied down to let the graduation folk know what had happened. The other one looked us over, and she shook her head. "One lesson each, huh?"

We nodded.

"Where are you from?"

I was from Maine, Scott was from Iowa. She looked at me. "Well, you at least know what a mountain is - you think you can get down okay if you take it slow?"

"Sure."

So she set off with Scott, guiding him down the trail while skiing...backwards. I am still in awe thinking about it.

Which left me at the top of the mountain - alone. Howling wind, rocky terrain. But I had to get down, and so I started to point my skis the way I'd been taught to begin going down the mountain.

Which didn't work - even a V-stop wasn't enough to stop the breakneck speeds. Which, as I realized tumbling next to a rock, was exactly what was going to happen if I kept this up.

I sat up, trying to figure out what to do next...and started to slide, very slowly, down part of the trail. The polyester graduation robe slid well, and with the skis I could steer.

Fine, says I. This is how we go down the mountain.

The was one person at the mid-point when I finally got there, and he was bent over laughing as he saw me sliding down the trail on my butt. "We couldn't wait, but they're all still waiting for ya down there."

He laughed, and helped me up. "From here you can probably stand and really ski. You should try that run again after a few more lessons."

I shook my head. "Nah, I think this is it."

I did make it down the lower half upright on my skis, arriving way behind everyone else, but with the full applause of the Feb class of 95.5 for having made it down the mountain.

Style and grace, I'm not sure. But I think it means I need to go to my 15th reunion this year.