Skiing with locals vs Skiing with friends

It's an epic powder day in Vail. It's a Sunday. It feels like half of Denver left home at 6am to make first chair. What to do? Hook up with some locals to hunt out the best skiing lines and shortest lift lines. And what better locals to hook up with than three people who have all been skiing Vail longer than I have been on this planet. Gus, Chris and Kim - a mad tele-shredder - acted as our guides and they certainly did deliver.


The very first run had us traversing thigh deep pow, getting out of the public's view as quickly as we could, then dropping into a gully, looking for the gaps between the stately aspens. With thighs already burning and grins already a mile wide, we snuck in another lap before the lift line became our enemy. On the chair ride up I sat there in utter confusion. Names of runs and lifts were being thrown up and shot down faster than I could follow. Before I knew it we were billowing our way down another steep and deep face that I never knew existed. They clearly weren't worried about giving away their secret spots; they were skiing so fast and hard there was no chance I'd remember the particular tree you had to duck behind, or the rocks you had to drop between to find these places. The secrets didn't stop on the hill either. Chris and Kim were kind enough to share a top ranch bar that made killer nachos and margaritas.


It's a run of the mill day in Vail. It's a Friday. Friends you haven't seen in almost two years are only an hour's drive away. What to do? You get the hell in the car! So my next day off took me back over the Vail Pass to Breckenridge to drop in on Jes and JD, two friends who were in town for the week. Staying in a log cabin, keeping warm by a pot bellied stove, playing cards, cooking hearty stew and drinking tasty beers made me feel like we were in a outdoor clothing catalogue. Living up to its reputation, Breckenridge provided us with enough wind to power a small town for several weeks. Despite the sweet conditions in the bowls, the wind attempting to tear one side of our faces off on the T Bar got the better of us after three runs and we headed to lower elevations to play in the cheeky bumps. The six pack chairs also allowed for better conversation, so everyone was a winner.


Two entirely contrasting days, two entirely satisfying results.

River

I hear that variety is the spice of life, so thought I might give life's seasoning a go today. Finding a foot of accumulating snow outside my window this morning I decided to go walking instead of skiing...And I stubbed my toe, so ski boots aren't that fun at the moment. Don't tell me, I know I'm tough / a pansy. A couple of hours beside the Eagle River and I learnt some things about the place where I live. (One of the things was that I live next to the Eagle River).

A pleasant footpath found.

Limited places to rest.

My Dad got stuck in a tree.

Misleading signs - it was all sealed.

Biking is done in the summer.

A successful day. But I'm going skiing tomorrow, sore toe or not.

And it gives me a loose excuse to post this excellent song.

A brush with the law

A couple of impressions and interactions of the American road law system during yesterday's drive to Denver and back.


An unmarked police car whooped its sirens at me. The car sped up to drive beside me and the driver gave me what looked like two high fives through the window. Turning back to the road I saw that the speed limit was about to change to 55. Basing my assumptions on Hollywood I thought all American cops were rogue vigilantes, sticking it to their superiors because they were taken off a case they really cared about. Or, were slightly unhinged, solving cases in particularly unorthodox ways. Hollywood has been proven wrong!


A sign on the side of the highway reading "Notice: Correctional Facility Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers." When I got home I watched The Shawshank Redemption. I would have picked Tim Robbins up off the side of the road if he had his thumb out. I don't think I would have had to be too worried. He probably would have done my taxes, changed the radio station to opera, then, if he had time, whittled the gear stick into a chess piece.

Music to think warm to

Play this song as you open your curtains to a bright and sunny day, empowered with the knowledge that it is -34 degrees outside.

One tough lady

Our team's lone female monoskier is one tough lady. Twenty years old and standing tall at four foot nothing, Tori is leaving Colorado tonight, four weeks earlier than planned, broken. But you'd hardly know anything was wrong.

I met Tori in June last year in Jindabyne at a ski racer development program. At this point she was a stand up skier, using outriggers to help her make her turns. What struck me then about her was her willingness to do and try anything. 

"Ski down there." "OK." 

"Do that three more times." "No worries."

"Are you tired yet?" "Nope."

She had guts and nothing seemed to faze her.

When we met again two months later, she had to transform herself into a monoskier. In order to compete with each other on an even playing field, athletes with disabilities must be classified into groups based on their physical ability. Tori was classified into a group as a stand up skier that would have left her with little chance of ski racing success. But as a monoskier she would have far greater opportunities. The decision was easy, and Tori threw herself headfirst into monoskiing. 

Like I said, she has guts, so after a few laps of Smiggin Holes' magic carpet she was ready to tackle something bigger and better. Two poma rides and several death-defying cartwheels that would have put a gymnast to shame later, Tori was hooked.


Fast forward to the beginning of 2011, spin to the other side of the world and you would find Tori continuing her monoskiing journey in Colorado. You would find her taking it to the boys during training. You would find her sometimes beating the boys at training. You would find her waxing her skis late into the night, even though she could hardly see over the work bench. You would find her tearing along on a snowmobile, making sure she was not breathing anyone else's fumes.

And then you would find her accidentally skiing into the moguls. The view from my vantage point was head-ski-head-ski-head-ski. It was one of those 'what am I going to find?' moments. What I did find was her grinning face and the question, "have you got my helmet?" In all the excitement it had flown off and was waiting in the trough of a mogul, sixty metres down hill. She insisted she was fine and skied out the rest of the day. 

I walked into dinner that night and Tori gave me the thumbs up. Not because she thought I deserved it, but because she didn't have a choice. Her thumb was bandaged halfway up her arm, broken in two places. She just thought she'd jarred it, so didn't say anything because she wanted to keep skiing. Dressed, ready for skiing the next morning, it was broken to her (no pun intended) that she had to pack her bags. It would have been bitterly disappointing, but we could hardly tell - as her bus pulled away, heading for the airport, she was giving us the thumbs up. I'd like to think she had a choice.