A High Country Tale Ch. 03: Of Odin and Ovid

Cal looked curiously at his husband as he quantified this. "Jake, you're telling me that those French dudes were out-sizing the Hottentots, too? Those 'Tot pygmies are supposed to be sportin' the hugest pieces in the world, now, at least that's what I've read... fourteen inches was an average, you say?"

"Well, I'm just quoting from medical diaries of the times," Jake added, "Centuries and changing social mores can fog things--- look at the Bible, claiming that Methuselah lived to 969 years and all of his line lived to at least 800 years of age." The doctor made a good argument and the group took in the information.

"The Hottentots gotta have twenty-inch dicks just to get within strikin' range of those women of theirs. Ever seen those butts? They cover the front as well as the backsides. Unbelievable. But, evolution provided. Those ladies didn't starve or die of thirst in the droughts of Africa where they lived...and still do live. They store all the fat and fluid and energy right around there, like damn camel humps, and still stay fertile." This came from Jeremy, who had just listened to that Methuselah point. He slapped his own hard glutes to accent the point. "Remember the National Geographic spreads on the tribes back in the sixties and seventies? Those booties could kill someone. It physically took twenty inches to get into the females for consummation. Google it. There are accounts from the Enlightenment and Age of Exploration when Europe imperialized the world. The drawings that came back to Western Kingdoms then were disbelieved by everyone. No one could comprehend booty that size." Jeremy, the doctor of Philosophy in the family, had studied anthropological and ethnological characteristics more than anyone, and all believed him. He addressed the blonde, "You just don't want to be droppin' the soap around those shortys. The three-legged myth started because of those little dudes. Nature can be oddly disproportionate, now." He took the roach and joined in the morning inhale before the slopes were to be negotiated.

Luke, the original addressee of Bryce's question had been silent up to that moment. "Well, boys, all I have to say is I don't want to meet up with any horny blue whales. Those big boys pack dicks longer than we are tall...and they're made of bone. My med school anatomy prof used one for a pointer." Everyone stared at him. "Just sayin'."

Luke, Cal and Jake shlooshed to a halt at the base lift together on their skis. Hoisting goggles up on heads, they surveyed the run just navigated. The three had been separated from Jeremy and Bryce where Peek-a-boo Run had swept away from the Humboldt Draft turn-off halfway down the mountain. Jeremy's decision to join the young ski bum Adonis on a snowboarding morning left the two careening down the committed path ahead of them. The trio had employed their superior edges in slicing crisply to the side trail. The mogul challenge of the Draft run had called and they now reveled in the accomplishment.

The blonde had enticed Jeremy by joshing him of his over-the-hill status which had whetted the competitive ebony stud's appetite to meet the whippersnapper's challenge. Snowboarders, the trick skiers on snow, required a different skill set than classic downhill skiing and the novelty of the method drew the younger generation like moths to a candle. Jeremy had reached the middle-age crazy plateau of 44 years absent the slightest physical evidence of the fact. Yet by the simple truth of chronological climb, he felt the pressure somewhere in his athletic being to 'hold court'. The distinct duo had missed the turnoff and was now probably contesting one another, breakneck style, in a competition of generational pride. Luke smiled at the mental picture.

The exhilarating run down Humboldt Draft had left Luke's vital signs racing. The altitude accentuated the stoned state they were experiencing from the shared joint at the summit, suffusion expanding during the descent. "Wow, Luke, Tride is easily the equal of Ajax trails, boi," Cal gushed, "those moguls were gnarly!" Jake and Cal were accomplished skiers, having spent countless hours not only on the downhill slopes there, but regularly trekking cross-country trails for cardio fitness. The results of the exertions were evident in the extremely fit couple, thought Luke. He and his man kept pace what with their own fitness regimens and both had sailed easily into their forties with the retained vigor of mid-twenties compatriots. As evidenced by Bryce and Jeremy's present sortie. In general, mountain people tended toward physical activity more than lowlanders. Statistical evidence bore it out. Perpetuation of active lifestyles well into the nineties was not an uncommon feat. Coloradans were well aware of the facts. Besides, keep moving and keep warm: the adage was true.

Turning toward the base gondola and Mountain Village Piazza, the friends stuck their equipment into storage lockers and meandered toward a favorite new lunch spot, The Village Table. Opened by a Swiss family a few years before, the place radiated charm. The pre-planned meeting site put the boys at the bar with hot sandwiches, soup and the most deliciously crispy steak fries on earth in the following quarter hour. Raspberry lemonade washed it all down. The trio chatted amiably, still in catch-up mode. Feet propped toward the open fire pit outside afterward, they sipped hot cocoa. There was still no sighting of the black-white duo of snowboarders. They must have gone back up for big-dickery boasting rights, the three concluded.

As a young lesbian couple waltzed by, Cal overheard a snippet of their conversation. The girls were excited to have sighted Oprah at the gondola station as they finished their run, "Can you believe that woman? She looked so damn delicious. And, helping the trauma crew load up that cute black man with the blonde boyfriend is just so...Oprah. The woman is always involved with regular people. It is so cool here, with all these celebs wandering around in the middle of the gay community—Wren, I am blown away that you brought me," the pretty woman pushed open the restaurant door for her friend and they disappeared inside.

Cal jolted at the allusion and was up in a flash, hustling the white boys into their jackets, "Did you hear them? They mentioned loading up a cute black man by trauma responders and a blonde boyfriend...you don't think...?"

It served to push them into a headlong rush across the piazza. Upon reaching the gondola station, Luke ran to the nearby info window and asked about any incident or injury episodes in the past minutes. "Well, yes, sweetie, as a matter-of-fact, there was an injury load-up about twenty minutes ago. A young man with a broken neck was braced up and taken over to County Hospital. His little boyfriend was beside himself. They should be unloading on the townside station right now. We can sure tell it is ski season, all right. The injuries are piling up. It's the third emergency lift just this morning. Two last evening, too." The helpful lady was still talking, but only to empty space, as the boys jumped on the next rotating car.

Forty minutes later found the three rushing through the doors of San Miguel County Hospital. Heading directly to the Emergency Room, the experienced young Texas ER doctors grilled the surprised reception staff. Reaching past their heads, they punched the emergency door-open button on the inner wall behind them and entered the treatment bays. Luke was familiar with the clinicians on the small high country hospital staff. One looked up from the medical records area, recognized Luke and wordlessly pointed toward the fourth bay. It was a separate room from the rest. He nearly busted down the door in his haste, Jake and Cal on his heels.

The scene nearly melted them. There lay Jeremy with his head swathed. Neck secured in an orthopedic brace, his shoulder hugely bandaged. Bryce was talking quietly into his ear, affection and concern waxing his features. The main conclusions drawn, however, were that the patient was conscious and cogent.

Upon sighting his husband along with both friends, Jeremy fairly beamed at them. "Word travels fast on this darn mountain, doesn't it?" He was clearly not in pain and seemed to be almost enjoying sitting center of attention. Luke's tears changed the man's demeanor just like that. "Oh, baby man, I'm good. Don't worry, I'm just fine." He saw the immense consternation mixed with relief and started blubbering himself. Luke closed the small gap and sized up the man of his life in seconds, concluding no death knell emergency.

"Jeremy Kell. What happened?" Luke demanded as he gently examined the shoulder and checked the fit of the neck brace.

An authoritative voice from the doorway answered, "Dr. Cevennes, we've been expecting you." The articulate voice came from Stan Stevens, the attending clinician on the floor and head of the ER here in the hospital. "Your better half is, as you can already see, stable, aware and pretty much pain free. Reduced subluxated shoulders are rather predictable that way. No fractures, no CNS involvement, good neurological signs. We plan to observe a couple more hours for concussive signs but no overt fears at this time. The man is hard-headed enough to weather a triple somersault into an embankment, I do believe," he smiled. "Though, next time, I would recommend waiting the passage of fellow skiers: it might make the landing a bit more predictable.

That synopsis along with two sheepish grins from Bryce and Jeremy were sufficiently telling. Luke settled on to the bed next to him, taking the hand resting there. Bryce moved back a bit, leaning over into Jake and Cal, obviously full of unspoken words but saying none. Just knowing all was well negated any need for the moment. Dr. Stevens approached closer, flashing a penlight back and forth across alert eyes and rested his hand on Luke's shoulder. "You know, Luke, if this young man hadn't been in the stellar shape that he is, I fear things could have turned out quite differently. The conditioning made the difference."

The patient savored the praise and at this, Bryce piped up, "Dr. Cevennes, he was amazing! The hot-dogger came out of nowhere while he was in midair and he still changed his trajectory somehow, landing in the snowdrift instead of smashing that tree. That woulda been...real...bad..." his voice trailed off as he saw Luke's look, realizing he may have offered too much, too quick.

Both Dr. Stevens and Luke zeroed in on the blonde. "Tree?" they expressed, simultaneously. The boy reddened and shrank behind Cal.

Jeremy chimed in at this point, "Settle down, men. Nothin' happened. Just like you said, Doc, my amazing conditioning prevented anything worse from resulting. Looks like that conditioning provided for avoidance of that tree, right? No harm, no foul, isn't that the maxim?" His logic couldn't be questioned; the truth bore it out. Luke and Doc Stevens backed off. Argumentation was the patient's forte, after all, Luke reflected.

Nevertheless, Luke cringed inwardly at the thought of the alternative possibility. He grasped the hand harder. Jeremy reassured his soulmate, drawing his face upwards with his good hand, "Honey, you're stuck with this man, come Hell or high water, so just hold on tight. We got a long road ahead of us. Channel a little Bobby McFerrin, now, how 'bout?" He hummed the tune to 'Don't worry—Be Happy' at his husband. His tender reassurance settled the atmosphere. "Besides, baby, you are always lookin' for excuses to get your damn hands all over this," pointing at himself, "so just look at the upside. I'ma needin' plenty of massagin', now...to keep my 'conditionin' up."

The hangdog grin won the debate.

"I'm sorry I scared you so bad in there, Luke. It's just that I was so happy to hear he's OK, I didn't think. That's what always happens when I'm nervous and excited. My mouth loses my brain," Bryce was walking with me to the restroom a few minutes later. Cal and Jake had been allowed by the ER staff to sit with Jeremy a little while.

"It's OK, Bryce, I get it. He is good and that's all I really care about," my relief truly was there, even though the call had been close. The antics my crazy, athletic man put me through made my psyche lose its grip on occasion. The thought of life without the man left me cold. But, all good and no bad was a prescription for mundanity, so, by rationalization of a lifelong principle, I actually recognized the need for accepting good fortune and leaving the chaff behind. Jeremy and my agreement early on. Time to practice the preaching, I figured.

"So, tell me, what in the world was he thinking--- a triple somersault? On a snowboard? Isn't that a banned move in the Olympics because of the danger level? You know: Broken necks. Permanent disfigurement. Quadriplegia. Brain death. Or even a serious condition. What were you guys thinking?" My exasperation level rose just by the voicing, sarcasm unavoidable.

"That's just the thing, Luke, we weren't doing anything like that. Just jumping moguls on the way down. When we rounded the last curve, we saw where the snow combers had banked the extra on the sides and a halfpipe had been built up. We both went right at it. Jeremy hit it calling out 'Cab 720 Stalefish'! And, he nailed it, Luke. He nailed it! That's an Olympic move, dude." The boy was again all worked up by the feat. "I've never seen anybody try one except at the Games and no one did it that clean even there. That man is a stud, Luke."

"Don't I know. But what was Dr. Stevens talking about? He's the one that said somersault."

"A Cab 720 isn't a somersault. It's a move dreamt up by Steve Caballero and is mostly a two-full-circle twirl move, Luke. I think the doctor musta been kidding, 'cause nothing like that happened. He had already finished the 720 and was turning the landing when that idiot came outta nowhere. Jeremy was just jumping a spread eagle 'cause he had stuck the motha'. He was in the air doin' that when the guy nearly t-boned him." Bryce was making sense of the whole thing for me now. It helped. I should have known. And trusted my man better. Although I was still curious to know when he had picked up that move--- I had never seen him attempt it. Things that make you go 'hmmmm'.

Coming out of the bathroom, we turned down the hallway toward the ER when we were hailed by a velvety feminine voice from behind us, "Luke, is that you?" Annalise Chastain was standing in the doorway halfway down the cross hallway corridor, in-patient section of the hospital. She was dressed in her typical flowing hippie attire with multiple layers and colors, looking very little like an elderly woman. Her evanescent smile beckoned us and we altered toward her.

The first thing in my head was whether old Mr. Chastain had been admitted for some reason, but she dispelled the thought, leaning back into the room, "Bart, dear, come see who is here, too." The old-world gent appeared almost immediately, beaming from ear-to-ear as he beheld the two of us.

"Well, Annie, maybe our favorite young doctor can shed a little light on things, what say you, my love?" He was still so head-over-heals besmitten by his lady that I always induced his every conscious thought began with the woman. He stepped forward as we drew near to wrap me in a manly hug, acknowledging Bryce as he did so.

"We came over again today to be with old Elmer. You remember, don't you, Luke, the aged man who lives up on the divide? You and Jeremy were over to dinner when he was with us awhile back if memory serves." I was in awe of the couples' lucidity and genteel manners but mildly amused by the reference to their decades-long confidant, Mr. Edgewater. The man was younger than the couple by their own previous admission.

Nobody was entirely certain how old either of the couple was, timeless in their existence and portraying the essence of human entwinement. I was relieved for their personal well-being. "Oh, of course, I remember him well. Has he developed a problem?" Their looks bespoke concern and we turned into the room.

"We hadn't been able to raise him these past days, Luke, and finally made our way to his eyrie there, only to find he had taken a fall several days before. A compound tibiofibular fracture. He hadn't been able to get to the telephone. We were compelled to call in the high country corps. They evacuated the poor thing, broken leg and all, down here to the hospital." Passing the corner into the room, we beheld the elderly man, meta-splinted leg elevated and face miserable in a troubled sleep. "I am afraid he may not judge our decision as proper as we thought it to be, but so far up the mountain, we knew there could be no way aid might be obtained. So there it is." Bart was noticeably torn by the decision, fully knowing that were the positions reversed, it could have been he or Annalise bearing the challenge from a prone and hospitalized position. But, of course, they had each other.

Mr. Elmer Bruce Edgewater, former hockey star, World War II veteran and presently distressed patient, exuded forlornness through a sedated slumber. An ingrained expression of angst bathed the man's deeply lined countenance. He was a known recluse with an irascible persona, yet all who knew the man recognized a sometimes endearing facet. The person was mercurial. One minute amiable, the next unapproachable. One could never tell which incarnation was in charge. Annalise had once enlightened Luke about a troubled past love affair which, to the present day, saturated the highlander's personality with deep contradictions.

Over coffee one summer morning at the Chastain's home, Elvee and Suture napping beneath the table, the lady had imparted the sad sojourn of a young Elmer. His fate had been met and set by falling hopelessly in love with an Austrian alpine ski champion during the 1948 Winter Olympics at St. Moritz, Switzerland.

The first Olympiad held in the post-World War II era, it was called the 'V Winter Olympic Games'. Elmer had been a member of the amateur hockey squad, sent to the Games by the U.S. Olympic Committee. The squad was made up of American AAU, or Amateur Athletic Union, members. A second squad had been sent to represent the USA by the AHA, Amateur Hockey Association. It was a misnomer, as the members were professional players named by a rival group from the International Ice Hockey League.

The Ligue Internationale de Hockey sur Glace---LIHG--- had challenged the newly re-emerging IOC in the first games since 1936, when Hitler had notoriously attempted hijacking the Berlin Olympics for propagandist reasons before WWII. The same ones a certain black American Phenom named Jesse Owens had singlehandedly crashed. The international league had usurped IOC power during post-war confusion and charged itself with naming the national teams to the Olympiad, intentionally at odds with the IOC's and USOC's prime loyalty to the goal of amateurism.

The AHA sent the team of professionals under the aegis of the rival organization and nearly derailed the entire Olympic effort. While the IOC-sanctioned team was finally allowed to participate by the Swiss, as host country, they were not permitted to compete for a medal. Elmer, as part of the true amateur team, found himself with extra free time. His wanderings through the Olympic Village had crossed fateful paths with a beautiful young Austrian skier.

Trude Beiser, from Vorarlberg, Austria, double medal alpine champion in both the combined and giant slalom events, fell hard for the young American athlete during the international sports symposium. In the course of winning both downhill events, the young Austrian had pursued a torrid affair with a supremely handsome Omaha Beach first-waver from the momentous pre-dawn Allied Invasion of June 6, 1944, at Normandy, France. D-Day.