After MLK Weekend

Is this the meaning of the holiday?

I live in a resort town in Vermont that’s popular with visitors from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. It’s a three to five hour drive from most of those states, so winter weekends and holidays are crowded with skiers and snowboarders. The atmosphere around town shifts from quite peaceful to frenzied and crowded. Driving becomes hazardous as out-of-state drivers race up and down the winding mountains, passing each other on snowy and slippery roads. A local farm posted a roadside sign reading, “You are already here. Slow down!”

There is no Triple A here, just a local towing operation that makes the bulk of its income on the busy winter weekends. It’s a minimum $225 for a simple yank out of a ditch, and many of the aggressive drivers apparently believe that an expensive SUV with all wheel drive is not susceptible to sliding off the road. Thus this predictable situation is all too common:

The urge to speed recklessly is also visible on the ski slopes: the new fad is“straightlining” which involves a skier or snowboarder (almost always a young male) heading straight down the middle of a trail at breakneck (no pun intended) speed, only stopping at the bottom. It’s terrifying to watch and even scarier to imagine what would happen if they lost control or collided with another person. It’s one of the reasons locals avoid the resorts during weekends and holidays. There seems to be an anxious mood that the accompanies the incoming crowds. They come to enjoy the area but can’t relax, probably because they’re not here long enough to settle in to the calming rhythm of life in the mountains.

The latest exodus began last Monday afternoon after a very snowy Martin Luther King three day weekend as the hordes headed south, executives returning to their jobs and children to their schools. The town was resuming its normal pace and I welcomed it. So it was when I stopped to pump gas that Monday afternoon that I heard a man and woman at the opposite pump arguing loudly. I glanced sideways and saw the woman pumping the gas while the man stood at the open front passenger car door, yelling at her. A few kids bounced around the back seat of the car, and the roof rack was filled with skis and snowboards. The vehicle had a Connecticut license plate.

I returned quickly to my task, sorry for them and their troubles. It was obviously going to be a long ride home. Suddenly the man yelled even louder at the woman, and I felt a THWACK on my back as an object hit me directly between my shoulder blades. I turned to see where it had come from and saw the man and woman staring at me with stunned looks on their faces. I looked down at my feet and saw a half-eaten apple on the ground; the man had hurled it at the woman, but he had hit me instead of her.

They both gasped in horror, the man crying out, “Oh my god I am SO sorry!” He came over and picked up the apple core and tossed it into the trash barrel that stood between us. “Are you okay?” he asked with great remorse. The woman started to cry, and I couldn’t even respond. I got into my car and drove away, thankful that he was not my problem and sorry for the kids who had to see the whole event.

So now for the next few weeks the roads are quieter, the grocery store lines shorter, and the slopes safe for everyone. I hope those parents realize the harm of their actions and how it will affect their children. Maybe they just need more time in Vermont, or they need to recognize the immensely important message of the achievements of Martin Luther King and how they had nothing to do with ski weekends for the wealthy.