January 2, 2010
Let me paint you a picture–me, at the top of a short run in my brother’s backyard in the mountains behind The Canyons. Me n the boys have just built a kicker, and I’ve just tried and failed to land switch a half dozen times already (today, I’ve tried and failed dozens of times in other locales). It’s now getting quite dark, I can barely make out the kicker below me, and I can’t see much of the backyard and the landing.
But I don’t care. It’s been my dream to land switch off a kicker, even if it’s a weanie backyard kicker. I’ve landed switch off little humps on ski runs and cat tracks many times, which is no big deal, since I’ve never gotten more than a foot or two off the ground.
Kim, who has been telling me it’s time to get in the car and go for about 20 minutes, is standing to the side with Maddy and Holden and the others, and watches me go by in a rush.
I follow Ian’s advice, crouching low, not beginning my spin until I’m clear of the jump, and I POP off the lip and start looking over my shoulder.
And, I land, leaning forward a bit, since my tails are now my tips. I take stock of my situation.
I’m still up and moving! Yay me! I’m king of the world!
I can barely see my family shouting and waving at me in triumph as I start to raise my arms to celebrate.
Unfortunately, they were waving and shouting about the gigantic tree toward which I was hurtling, but, you know, backwards, so I couldn’t see it.
I don’t care. Didn’t even hurt (and there was very little bruising). Because I landed SWITCH.