Fauxhasset Paroder, 38th Edition: Alien Santa left out in the cold

Thamanda Crompson
Fauxhasset Paroder Staff Reporter

The Alien Santa was spotted actually enjoying the perpetual blizzard at Gledhill Sledhill, proving once again that he isn’t, and never will be, one of us.

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Skills unlocked: not falling on the so-called “bunny” slope (did not see any bunnies T_T), mastering human hand signals. Photo credit

Someone had given the alien a snowboard and he was doing his best to learn the sport, hiking tirelessly back up the hill for another attempt. Witnesses said they heard him break a wrist, only to watch him straighten out the joint and heal himself on the spot.

At first, Alien Santa shared the slope with a horde of children, but after his arrival, the crowd began to thin. Sledders suddenly grew tired. Parents spirited their little ones away, casting wary glances at the alien in the rearview mirrors of their Range Rovers.

One little girl, however, wasn’t gone for long before she returned with a bright red helmet under her arm. This she affixed to Alien Santa’s head. She was then seen giving pointers to the man in red, and he was soon able to ride the whole way down the hill without falling.

The two then shook hands and parted ways. The young girl turned out to be none other than Dooey Lembas, spokeschild for Princess Elsa’s School for Turning Superheroes into Snowflakes and the only sister (out of eight siblings) of Shorty Lembas, who was swallowed by a pothole in November.

When asked about her actions, Lembas just shrugged.

“One time, one of my big brothers got a concussion from snowboarding,” she said. “The doctors said he couldn’t go to school, couldn’t watch TV, couldn’t read – couldn’t nothing! I know ϨΔиϮα’s a little weird, and not everybody likes him, but I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

Then she laughed and added, conspiratorially, “He’s not very good, is he? He’s learning, though. He just needs a little practice.”

 

A cure for board-om

March 2, 2016. It was still winter, but the mountains were already talking about shutting down for the season due to lack of snow. I tried to go to Killington twice: once in December, when it rained, and once in March, when it got real cold real fast and the few trails that were open turned to ice.

So what’s a girl to do? I used to suffer from traditional SAD (seasonal affective disorder), which made winters long, dark and brutal. Now I get reverse SAD when I can’t snowboard. March 2, and already I was counting the months until I could feel sane again.

What would it be – eight, if I got lucky and the cold weather started by Thanksgiving? Ten, if we got another winter like the last two, which didn’t kick in until late January? I considered moving to Scandinavia. The potential for a Donald Trump presidency made an easy excuse for leaving the country.

March 2, 2016. That was the first time I was aware of the OneWheel: a motorized, self-balancing skateboard created to mimic the feeling of carving fresh powder on a snowboard. I must’ve found their video “The World is Your Playground” on Instagram or something.

That day, I shared it to Facebook with a plea (joking-except-seriously-though) for $1500. What did I expect – that some rich uncle I forgot about would come out of the woodwork and decide that a good way to spend his extra cash would be to buy me 2016’s best impression of the hoverboard from Uglies?

Well, the rich uncle never materialized, but I kept thinking about the OneWheel. Everywhere I looked, I could see myself riding one. Grassy knolls, smooth sidewalks, trails, beaches, fields: the world, indeed, began to look like my playground.

I wished I could rent one, just to see if it really felt the same as snowboarding. To see if it was enough to keep me sane through summer. But nobody in Boston rents out OneWheels, and I couldn’t connect with any local riders to see about borrowing one. So I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do:

I drove to Vermont.

It was a little under four hours to WND N WVS, Burlington: my nearest OneWheel retailer. I was simultaneously overjoyed to finally take a test ride, and terrified that I would hate it and have to start counting the months to snowboarding season again.

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Was it everything I dreamed? As natural as breathing? Did it “feel right from the moment I put my feet on the board?” Actually… not quite. The learning curve I’d been warned about had not been exaggerated; this is a difficult sport. But then, so was snowboarding, at first.

I’m naturally uncoordinated, the sort of person whose friends think they’re drunk after one beer but really I just can’t stand up properly. People will point in alarm at a bruise on my elbow or shin and ask what I did to myself. The answer is usually “walked into a door frame.”

But I knew I wanted to snowboard, so I stuck with it and eventually (after most of a season) graduated from the bunny slope. And this…

I know I want to do this.

I’ve got a OneWheel on the way, kindly sold to me for a good chunk less than $1500 by one of the excellent folks on the OneWheel forums. When it gets here…

Well, I hope the playground is ready.

Follow my OneWheel adventure on Instagram!

My side of the mountain

Branches weave a woody back to bear the cloak of snow. You and I pass words back and forth in hot white clouds, borne on the cold white air. Then the forest opens its mouth and spits us out into a lush green field and I stand bewildered, up to my hips in vegetation, while you walk on as though the world has revealed nothing just now. But the universe has torn its own veil and I can see everything as if I’d made it myself.

have made it myself. This is a dream. I made the snow, I made the flowers, and I can make anything that magnetizes my heart. My feet, to spite gravity, let go of the earth and I float a few yards, wondering what to build with this new and infinite freedom.

Back to the snow, then; to the summit! There is no one on my mountain. It rears its powdered head for only me. I strap the board to my feet, flirt with the crest, and plummet.

The nose angles down while my back foot pumps furiously, checking my speed. I rocket toward the base. Now only one thing stands between me and the perfect run: a wrinkle in the trail, as if someone seized it by the base and shook it out, or as if a cat crawled beneath the smooth sheet of snow and fell asleep there. I crouch low to the board and the white earth shoots me into the sky, bottoms up. I cartwheel through the air and land with a graceful, satisfying piff.

Black diamond trail, you have been conquered.