At The End Of All Things

Well Buenos Aires is pretty fantastic. But after a couple weeks there, broken up by a stint in Uruguay, it was time to move on. Destination: Ushuaia, Argentina. The most southerly city in the world. Yes, it is southerly and not southernly. No N. Don't ask me why, but if you dislike it then go read someone else's edge of the world blog.

Trouble finding another world's edge blog? Then you're stuck with my account and it goes a bit like this:

The edge of the world is a place where snow is friendly with seaweed. Where salt water and subzero temperatures get along quite nicely. Where streets and sidewalks bow out to a difficult-to-navigate combination of ice and mud. Where the lazy sun can't be bothered to rise before 10 but makes the wait well worth it by transforming the mountains into giant mounds of pink and orange sherbet upon it's ascent. Where pods of whales can be seen loitering in the frigid waters. Where mountains somehow conspire to surround you from all sides even while exhausted waves lap at your feet. The edge of the world is a place that begs contemplation, reflection, and snowboarding.

What? You didn't think I'd just go for the mind blowing scenery did you? No, when I found out I could snowboard while looking over the edge of the world, now that's when I was truly sold. It may not have been the most conventional 4th of July but it was definitely one to remember.

After a day of unleashing my Pacific Northwest bred snowboard skills upon the Argentines, I was all smiles. Descending to the base at the end if my last run, I was coming in with some serious speed. I decided a fancy stopping maneuver was in order to appropriately impress those watching. I went to carve hard to the left but my board refused to turn. It was only my binding who obliged. The combination of the failed loose rental binding and the laws if physics quickly teamed up to ensure some pain was in my near future. 

The sound of someone getting the wind knocked out of them is unmistakable. Nevertheless I gave the nearby Argentines a refresher course. 

You'd think it would be difficult to maintain a smile while your lungs are fighting, to no avail, for some air and your imaginative ribs are trying to convince you that they are shattered. Not this time. No high speed wipeout could rob my face of the smile it had been wearing all day. And just one second. Let me check. Yes. That same overly giddy, edge of the world smile is still right where it should be.