Ascent

We arrived at the ski resort with a few bumps in the road. Today, we would be skiing. Although my sister and I had only gone once before, the thought of sliding down ski hills made us squeal with excitement. The gate was wide open, beckoning us in and we followed a series of cars like well-trained ducklings up a small ascent. We spotted some mountains in the distance and small dots sliding down and we instantly began to chatter. Until we suddenly stopped.



There was a slight bent in the road and the trees blocked our view. We craned our necks, trying to see what the hold up was. There was only the occasional whoosh of the wind. We heard one honk, but nothing happened. The parking lot must have already been filled! Sighing, people slouched in their seats, tapping their feet and humming to the radio.

After a while, my family and I were finally able to make out a shape at the top of the hill. A grey car was slowly inching forward, wandering here and there. It drove up, then stopped. It came back down, then, as if it was regretting its choice, it drove back up again. It turned to the left, getting ready to leave, then it straightened itself again. It neither went up nor down. We watched, with growing frustration and anger. The minutes were ticking away but the car did not move from its position. The sun was making its way across the sky, and our time was running out.

After what seemed like ages, snowmobiles came. We watched, suddenly alerted, as the sleek vehicle stopped in front of us. They were going to fix this problem! Men dressed in bright yellow vests dismounted the snowmobiles and surveyed the situation. They talked amongst themselves. They pointed a finger. They walked to the left, then to the right, hesitant as the where they should go. They went back to the group and watched the grey car slowly budge up again then stop.
Why aren't they telling the grey car to go?
The men from the snowmobiles went from car to car, knocking on people's window, gesturing towards the still not moving vehicle. Where they going to do something? Finally, one of the men came to our window.
"Sorry but the car at the front can't make it up the hill," the man said and left.
"Well, why didn't they get winter tires," I muttered from my seat. We watched as the brightly clothed people remounted their snowmobiles and left. The snowmobiles disappeared, whirring up the hill and out of sight, leaving only a cloud of snow. They were gone.

We were back to square one again, watching as the grey vehicle squirmed upwards. We suddenly saw a door opening in front of us. First, a young boy, about the age of 9 came out, racing towards the grey car, slipping as he ran. A second person came out. He was wearing baggy jeans with his hat pulled over his eyes. His shoes were worn and his jacket was dirty. He swaggered towards the car, his hands stuffed in his pockets, back slouched.

The people walked closer to the car, with purposeful strides. The older man talked to the young boy, and his head bobbed up and down, agreeing to whatever the other person was saying. They then talked to the driver and circled to the back of the vehicle. The two males placed both their hands on the car and pushed. The convertible didn't budge and the little boy slipped again, falling on the hardened snow. Suddenly, many more car doors opened, revealing young and old people alike. The doors slammed loudly as all the people swarmed towards the young boy and the lanky teenager. Everyone placed their hands on the car and shoved. The tires moved ever so slightly at first, but it quickly sped up. We watched as the grey car slowly made its way up the hill.

One car, two cars, then three cars made it to the top, all with the help of the assisting people. It was almost our turn now.
"You got winter tires, didn't you?" my mom asked my dad, hesitantly.
"Of course, no worries," my dad said immediately; the tires had weathered much more worse conditions than these.

As the car in front of us finally move out of the way and it was our turn. My dad put a confident foot on the accelerate pedal. The vehicle budged a bit, then the tires let go of its grip on the snowy road. The tires spun around futilely, spraying snow. Without missing a heartbeat, the boys came to our aid. We could hear them huffing at the back of the our car, but our convertible was barely moving an inch. We owned a van; it was larger than the cars they had pushed up the hill before.

My mother, sister and I got off, to lessen the weight and paraded to the back of the van. We looked at the tired men, and placed our hands on the car and we all heaved. The vehicle shifted forward a bit. Slush was building up behind me as I dug my heels into the snow. The vehicle slowly but surely started to climb up the hill. With a final burst of energy, we shoved it over the slope. We all sighed, exhausted, as we watched our silver van rumbled away; our dad was too afraid to stop now.

Getting ready to trek through the winding road, I looked back. One of the men was getting into his car; it was his turn. The number of helping men were dwindling for every passing vehicle that made it to the top. I looked at the line of cars, there was still many left, and more trucks were coming in. How was the last car going to make it?