Skiing behind horses?!?!?

An amazing event took place this weekend in my hometown, Leadville, and I took the trouble of driving over 100 miles to see it, and I dragged my disbelieving roommate with me. Luckily she had just a good as time as me. Every year for over 30 years, a sport has existed called Ski Joring and what it entails is a gutsy skier being pulled down the main street of my town that has been packed with snow. That skier must ski through gates, collect six rings using a baton, and go over three seven foot jumps to the finish in the fastest time. It’s a rare thing to witness, but I have grown up in the sport, having a dad who has won the Championship four years in a row back in the glory days. I have even competed in the event as a kid, winning a gift certificate to a sporting goods store. The crowd that is attracted to Ski Joring mainly consists of cowboys, ranchers, and the curious tourists, but my kind of crowd is the rowdy cowboys
There is also a dance on each Friday and Saturday night, and for those of you who don’t know me, dancing is a great love in my life. It’s a country dance, and that makes it ten times better. I have not lived in the same state as my father for the last 10 years, so now that he lives in Colorado, we take every chance we get to go two stepping together or to swing across the dance floor. On Saturday night, I seriously had the most fun I have had in a very long time, and I felt that I would rather drive that far to dance with my dad at a small town bar than pay $15 to get into a night club.
The reason I chose to write about this is because this weekend was the first time I have watched my dad compete in 11 years, and I had to reflect on how proud I felt all weekend to tell people that the Legend, Jerry Kissell, was my father. I felt sad for a good portion of the weekend as well because I remember when we traveled to Montana to compete at Red Lodge, the Championship race, and the group of friends we had. Hardly any of them are to be found at the event any more, due to age and families. But this weekend was my chance to return to those memories and to enjoy myself once again as a tiny hick town threw one hell of a party.