The Devil Went Down to Wolf Creek

When I think of a musical ballad, The Devil Went Down to Georgia, just does not strike me as being a ballad, rather I think of a song like Wonderful Tonight, by Eric Clapton. However, according to the Wipekida definition of a Ballad, The Devil Went Down to Georgia, is a ballad. The word ballad conjures up vision of a soft guitar, love song with an attached story. Technically aside from the soft guitar song The Devil Goes Down to Georgia would meet my definition. You have Johnny, the kid who loves his guitar, and the devil who loves, well souls of course. Along with that goes the story, of Johnny challenging the devil and winning. When we, me and my closest friends from Big B, changed the words to the song a little. We did not care much about fiddling, we like to snow ski, but we still wanted to beat the devil. The end result was Us challenging the devil for out Skoal, and we would get a pair of golden K2 skis if we beat him skiing. A word about smokeless tobacco, don’t try it, it is overrated and bad for you. Once you start it is difficult to stop, and could take divine intervention for you to stop. There is nothing cool about it, epically all the spit, women, most women, find it repulsive.

We loved to ski especially at Wolf Creek. Actually, we still love to ski, still at Wolf Creek. My freshman year in college two of us bough our own skis and I skied a total of 24 days that winter, which is good considering it if 5 hours to the nearest mountain with snow on it from where we live.

There is something wonderful about skiing down a mountain, with the tall trees around, the snow falling on you, as you cut back and forth down the face of a mountain. Your face numb from the cold, icicles in your mustache and chin, no feeling in your hands. Looking around and can barely see 10 feet in front of you partly due to the blinding snow, and partly because you were too cheap to get goggles. Your legs, screaming in pain because of the burning sensation from muscles that you have not work in 11 months. That is the point that you ask yourself, “Now why exactly is it that I like this sport, can’t see, can feel my face, hands, or feet, all I feel from my legs is burning, and I am going down a black diamond with 12 inches of powder.