This gave me a brain jog to skis I had back in the day as well. I thought they were Dynastars but after some interweb sleuthing I see they were Rossignol Quantums. They were white with black plastic tips that had a window in them. Not sure what the Frenchies were thinking. Maybe, “Pourquoi pas?”.
So, it was sometime in the late eighties at Big K. It was New Year’s day so we were freshly hungover, maybe still drunk. OK, yeah, we were drunk. Definitely stoned. Hucked the cliffs on Devil’s Fiddle. OK, maybe just flopped off them. Coming in hot to a massive hit. Maybe it was the road that crosses or a whale, not sure, little foggy. Anyhow, I launched big time, threw a backscratcher and struck a pose. Looking good in my CB jacket. Dug those fucking tips right into the ground and smashed my face, busting open stitches I got the night before from a hockey slap shot. Good times.
Never found the tips. Skis were pretty useless without them.