Sunday morning started like any other Sunday here at Lancaster Polo Dot Com headquarters–with my dog’s nose pushing on my forehead, reminding me that it was time to pee and eat food. So that’s precisely what I did, taking a peek outside to see that there was indeed no snow on the ground.
Around 10 AM I made omelets for my wife and I (mushroom, pepper, and onion, as I’m sure you’re curious) and there started to be a few flakes flittering down from the heavens.
What-ev-ah, I said. I’ll just put on a hat to protect my delicate skull from melting snow.
But by the time I actually hit the road, it was coming down very well. My normal drive of twenty or so minutes turned into one of maybe a half hour. Not terrible, I grant you, but I certainly could have read the signs at that point.
Where we play is perched on top of a hill, and that hill makes itself very apparent when there is ice or snow. This isn’t important now, but it will be later on in the tale.
So I get to our courts just as the hockey players are leaving. The goalie (a boisterous, foaming-at-the-mouth type) tells me that they played for as long as they could, but the court was getting too thick for their roller blades and they decided to pack it in. I told him we’d give it a shot and he laughed at me long enough that I felt the need to turn away from him.
Rodney showed up then, and we discussed how stupid we were for being there. I went out on the court and did a series of front wheel skids, which was a new experience for me and not altogether unenjoyable.
I didn’t hurt myself too terribly when I fell, but I decided to take my time getting up by first making a polo snow angel. That was the best thing to have happened while courtside.
After I got up and snapped a few quick pictures (to prove that we three were the strongest and dumbest of our club), people began posting on facebook that they were not coming out. We weren’t surprised, and decided to head back to our warm little polo hovels ourselves.
And that’s when that hill I told you about came into play. You see, I tried to go back the same way I came, but an ice truck had slid sideways about halfway down the hill, and I was waved to a stop by a woman in a van.
“If you go down that way, you’ll DIE.”
I thought it was a bit dramatic of a statement, and I tried to peer down the hill to see the Earth opening up with tentacles coming out (how else could she be so sure of my death), but she said it again and then told me to go any other way. She was a goof, but not incorrect, so I turned my delightfully bad-in-the-snow Saturn Ion around and found the highway, taking a good hour to get home.
So instead of playing polo I cheated imminent death and read 200 pages of Storm of Swords.