Upward bound
One man dreams of fame on the ski jump.

By Joshua Davis

LAST WINTER I decided to hang up my toboggan and give arm wrestling a try. I bought some arm warmers, traveled to Poland to compete in the World Armwrestling Championship, and went on to lose every match. After my final loss I hung up my arm warmers and decided that arm wrestling wasn't the sport for me. But now, one year later, I'm faced with a pressing question: What the hell am I going to do this winter?

In 1991, at the height of the Scott Schmidt Extreme Ski hype-athon, I bought a pair of K2 Extremes with metal edges so wide they grabbed the snow and made me face-plant every time I tried to turn. It got boring after a while. I don't feel like dropping the cash for a new pair, so my choices are giving up skiing or finding a way to ski that involves less turning. Ski jumping is the obvious answer.

Unfortunately, it's very difficult to be a ski jumper in San Francisco. Squaw Valley's two jumps – built for the 1960 Winter Olympics – look like they haven't been sneezed on since 1961. The landing zone is dotted with sprouting trees, and you'd need a fresh copy of the 1960 Olympics press kit to discern the ramp. I don't have a death wish. I just want some winter excitement.

I want to fly like they do on TV. I want to feel the wind holding me up and hear the crowds roar and gasp. I'm not really so interested in the whole catapulting-down-the-ramp thing, but I'm a man. I can handle it.

The closest training facility I can find is in Steamboat Springs, Colo., a bit of a schlepp. However, the Steamboat Springs Winter Sports Club has produced more than 60 Olympians. Of the 11 members on this year's U.S. Olympic ski-jumping team, 10 either trained or lived in Steamboat. It is the epicenter of the American ski-jumping community.

When I call Todd Wilson, the director of the program at SSWSC, he tells me it usually takes two years to prepare for the big jumps. Under pressure, he admits that some have accomplished it in 10 months. As a hardworking writer, I don't have that kind of time. I need the condensed version. "I have three days," I tell him.

"We can start you out on the beginner jump, for sure," Wilson says, sounding unfazed by my enthusiasm.

"What does it look like?" I ask.

"It's a bump in the snow."

"Will I fly through the air?"

"You might get a few feet off the ground."

"I was thinking of something a little grander, actually."

Wilson explains that the "grander" jumps involve hurtling 63 miles an hour down the ramp and flying as far as 800 feet.

"If you have no idea what you're doing, yeah, it's dangerous," he says. He suggests I contact Pat Arnone, the president of Steamboat's Geländesprung Jumping Association, a group of "crazy guys who jump off Nordic ski jumps in their alpine skis."

"Yeah, we encourage newcomers," Arnone says when I call him. "We had a fatality out in Durango a while back, and that kind of chilled the sport out, so we're always looking for new people to bring in and grow the sport."

The main difference between Nordic and geländesprung is that Nordic skiers jump in cross-country skis. With their toes attached to the skis but their heels free, they become more aerodynamic by leaning forward. Geländesprung jumpers, on the other hand, wear alpine skis and can't lean forward without flipping. As a result, they catch the full force of the wind and drop like shotgunned birds.

The bright side is that geländesprunging is a lot more accessible, as many people already have alpine gear. Arnone runs a Tuesday-night clinic in Steamboat, and all you need are a pair of downhill skis and $10.

"Basically, you don't want to land on your back," he says. "We had a guy last year who landed on his back, and his face went through his skis. That was bad. He bled, but that's part of the sport. If you're not bleeding, you're not doing it right."

Now, I don't mind a few scratches here and there, but slamming my face through solid objects is not my idea of a fun thing to do in the winter. I wouldn't even do it in the summer.

"The plus side to all this is that there's a lot of money involved in geländesprung," Arnone continues. "There are contests all over the West, and the purses can get pretty big. In Missoula they have as much as $10,000 to give out. First place nets you $2,500."

Hmmm. This could be a moneymaking venture and a winter hobby.

"It's an unbelievable rush to be standing at the top of a jump," Arnone adds, sensing my increased sensitivity to his pitch. "Anytime you're hitting 60-plus miles an hour on a pair of skis, you're getting into a whole different ball game, and not too many people have that experience, particularly when you throw a jump in front of them."

Damn it, I'm in. I tell Arnone I'll be there the first Tuesday there's snow on the ground. I'm instructed to prepare by doing squats and standing on the edge of my roof, which is 40 feet above street level. So if you're walking around North Beach one day and you see a skinny blond guy teetering on a rooftop, don't worry – I'm not jumping. Not yet anyway.

Useful information

Reserve a room Yampa Valley Medical Center, 1024 Central Park Dr., Steamboat Springs, CO 80487. (970) 879-1322, www.yvmc.org.

Check the schedule Geländesprung Jumping Association (ask for Pat Arnone), Steamboat Springs Branch. (970) 879-8141.

Ready to make the move to Nordic? Steamboat Springs Winter Sports Club, P.O. Box 774487, Steamboat Springs, CO 80477. (970) 879-0695, www.sswsc.org.

Jump where the Olympians jump National Sports Foundation, P.O. Box 682722, Park City, Utah 84068. (435) 645-7660.

Or not Fear of Flying Online Help Course. www.fearofflyinghelp.com.