Ode to a Snowboard

O, Arbor snowboard no longer mine, how did I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Our modern society is oft obsessed with ugliness and just as often unable to manufacture a product that works well. But every once in a while providence brings to us an object in which form and function, art and engineering, poetry and practicality are wonderfully wed and fantastically fused. My Arbor snowboard was just such a thing. It looked as good hanging on the wall of my study as it performed under my feet as I carved lazy S's down the snow-covered runs at Mission Ridge. Unlike many snowboard topsides, it did not display a single knife, chain, demon, issue of blood, skull, flame or scantily-clad vixen. Neither was it defaced with a cacophony of mismatched colors or delirium-inspired graphics. My sweet-old-school Arbor had a Hawaiian Koa-wood top. 'Twas plain and simple with a small "Arbor" logo near the top of the board. In the four years that I rode this board there was only one outing that someone did not stop me to comment on how beautiful the board looked. "Wow!", "Niiiiiice" and "Sweet-old-school" were the most frequent unsolicited observations.

After my mountain bike accident last summer and the resultant shoulder-separation, I happened to hear on the radio that the number one Emergency Room producing sport in the nation was, you guessed it, snowboarding. That bit of medical trivia, the increasing creakiness of my bones,and my own concussion three years ago (and subsequent toboggan ride and ambulance trip to the ER) convinced me to sell the board to someone whose recuperative powers exceed my own (heavy sigh.)

Good-bye sweet board. Long may you run. Long may you run.