Work's out for winter

After three months of work with the Paralympic Team it's time to hang up the ski boots...and then pull them straight back down again.

Training wound up on Sunday and on Monday a U-Haul van, filled with 38 ski bags, drove away from Avon bound for Australia (via a container ship). Thankfully, my ski bag was not in it, but rather with me on its way to Breckenridge. It was with some regret that I waved goodbye to the rest of the team, standing outside the house that was going to be home for the next few months. Regret that I wouldn't get the last few rays of summer fun back in Australia; that I wouldn't see family and friends for another few months at least; that I might have forgotten the code to get into the garage of the house and would be stuck outside until someone got home. But that all quickly washed away when I turned to look at the mountain looming above me and found the piece of paper with the code on it in my pocket. 

So after three months of skiing Vail - albeit, mostly one small area - I thought I'd be ready to ski somewhere else. That's why it was odd that I found myself sliding skis into the back of the car and throwing boots over the back seat on Wednesday morning, preparing to head back to Vail. Maybe the car also thought this was slightly odd, because when I turned the ignition - nothing. Not a cough, whir or hum from the engine. Not even a light on the dash made itself known. After much frowning, trying, retrying, phone calling and bashing around the garage, a battery charger was found and my mechanic skills could be put to the test. (Yes, attaching a battery charger to a battery is counted as mechanic skills.)  An hour of impatient foot tapping and prodding of the charger later, things were back on track and I was finally on my way to Vail. 

The engine that sat between me and a day of fun.

Grilling, skiing and margaritas were the order of the day, so it was straight out to the Blue Sky Basin grilling deck. Hot dogs were already sizzling on the grill so it was just a matter of throwing one in a bun with some sauerkraut (we were with a Czech Republican) and mustard and kicking back to enjoy the view.  

It ain't called Blue Sky Basin for nothing.

With ski patrol ushering us away from the grill and with bellies full, some achingly so, it was time to hit up the Minturn Mile for a few turns. The Minturn Mile is a popular backcountry route from the top of Vail to the nearby town of Minturn, home of the Turntable Diner and Minturn Saloon. Although it was late in the day and the snow was crusting up after copping a pounding from the sun all day, we could see the appeal of the route; a consistent, uninterupted fall line, wide open turns, trees if you want them and one hell of a ski out along a several mile long luge track disguised as a valley.

The luge track to Minturn.

Waiting for us in Minturn was a Saloon full of margaritas and a weird dude in a pick up truck offering lifts back to Vail for $7. I've already described the real American experience provided by the Turntable Diner in Minturn, so it will be of little surprise that the Minturn Saloon provides another one of those experiences. Locals fill the bar, with signed photographs and letters from the likes of John Wayne, Yogi Berra, Glen Plake and Joe DiMaggio filling every square inch of wall space not taken up by giant snake skins and buffalo heads. 

Just don't look at anyone the wrong way.

The day was capped off when, with a bit of wheeling and dealing, we managed to escape the sting of the $25 parking fee at Vail.

And so with work done and still a few months left in the US of A, here's to hoping a fair majority of days end up similar to this one. But maybe without the flat battery, even though I wouldn't mind showing off my mechanic skills again. 

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. 

A happy good time week

"Exclamation!" Schffwooooooph. Cheers and whistling. These were the sounds of my week. If I was ranking weeks, this one would go down in a best-of list. Not one thing in particular made it so, just an accumulation of happy good times. A happy good time week!

Tuesday dawned to 16 inches of fresh powder and blue skies. This was a new (and challenging) experience for our development ski team, but they battled courageously. Skiing on one leg in soft snow is tough. (Or so I've heard.) And skiing in a monoski in fresh snow means a constant stream of snow flowing into your lap and pounding into your face. Several face plants and cartwheels later they were all skiing the deep snow like demons...who ski.

Happy sunshine times at Vail Top: Michelle, Jono, Stu, Lincoln, Mark and Tori.

Wednesday delivered another 15 inches of fresh snow. Due to the fact that half of Colorado had called in sick the day before so they could go skiing, there were very few people who could make the most of the even newer snow, meaning even fewer people on the hill. A brief training session in the morning was followed by a massive afternoon exploring Vail's Back Bowls. Too. Much. Fun.

Obligatory cheesy chairlift shot. Note: My facial hair was more like facial icicles at this stage.

And what's a stellar week without some stellar live music to top it off? With steam billowing from his scalp like a chimney stack, Lyrics Born got the faux cobble stone streets of Vail heaving. Even the upper classes, viewing the show from their chateau windows were getting their funk on.

Prime viewing position, from the shoulders of a one legged man.

But it's only Sunday. By my calculations there is still one day left to bring me round to the end of this tip top week. Bring on Monday!

It's miiigghhty cold out 'ere

Pain: A basic bodily sensation induced by a noxious stimulus, received by naked nerve endings, characterized by physical discomfort (as pricking, throbbing, or aching), and typically leading to evasive action. (As defined by the Merriam-Webster online dictionary. I'm led to believe it's a very reputable dictionary, primarily because it was at the top of the Google list).


I'm going to break down the last day of 2010 and the first few days of 2011 for you based on this definition.


Noxious stimulus: The cold. The oh so very cold. December 31 began with a peer out the window and the thought, "Oh, I thought today was going to be cold. It doesn't look that cold." I'm not sure what cold exactly looks like. I don't think I expected snowmen standing outside shaking their stick fists and frowning their coal eyes at me as a warning, but it didn't look that different to December 30. I learnt how wrong I was when I ventured out onto the balcony in boxer shorts and bare feet. My entire body recoiled in a move similar that of Cosmo Kramer's in any number of Seinfeld episodes. I quickly put pants and socks on and only moved outside when entirely necessary.


Naked nerve endings: January 1 dawned to an absolute amateur error. Fruit left on the front seat of the car that was intended for breakfast was frozen solid. If only I had a blender with me - frozen bananas make a wicked smoothie. This really has nothing to do with naked nerve endings, but I thought the naked bit might get you reading.


Physical discomfort: The next couple of days were not entirely pleasant. The mercury hovered anywhere between -20 degrees and -30 degrees celcius. I don't think I need to explain physical discomfort when I tell you it was my job to stand in the shade videoing racers skiing past. Although, I can't complain; the racers had to wear lycra.


Evasive action: Sharing the sliver of sunlight breaking through the trees with the other coaches. Short spints up hill. Windmilling arms. Granola bars.


January 3 was like heaven on earth. We woke to a balmy -10 degrees and the driest powder you could imagine. There's a silver lining to everything. So now if you hear me whinge or moan about how sore/painful/cold something is, just say to me, "Tom, remember those couple of days at the start of 2011?"

New perspectives

I’m learning. People have different perspectives and priorities. I reckon I’m a pretty accommodating kind of person. I’m one of those people who will hesitate when opening a door, wondering if I should hold it open for that person who’s doing a bit of a jog and a skip trying to catch the open door, but not wanting to seem like they are. They are also wondering if I will hold the door open for them. By the time I’ve decided whether I will hold the door or not they’re already through the door and giving me an odd look that’s saying, ‘Thanks, you can close the door now.’ On second thoughts, maybe I’m not accommodating, maybe I’m just indecisive. Anyway, where was I before I got sidetracked by doors? Perspectives. So, being accommodating (or indecisive) I’m pretty open to new ideas or points of view. Or so I thought.

I’m in Vail, Colorado working with the Australian Paralympic Ski Team, which is training for the World Championships in January. These skiers like to ski fast. Really fast. And to ski really fast they like to have hard snow. Fresh snow on the ground is soft snow, making it difficult to go fast. I prefer fresh, soft snow. It feels floaty, it’s fun and it feels better than most things when it hits you in the face. Until a few weeks ago I didn’t realise how different our head coach’s perspective on soft snow is.

We’ve woken to several mornings of fresh powder. The head coach finds this infuriating. It makes it difficult for our skiers to train. It forces him to change plans. While he’s considering these change of plans the rest of us are standing at the bottom of the hill silently praying that training will be called off and we can all go freeskiing. To his credit, he gets creative and produces some good results, considering all this terrible new snow.

This morning was particularly difficult. Almost a foot of new snow fell and we had speed training with the US Ski Team. Their coaches and I spent an hour slipping the course, pushing this beautiful, soft, dry powder out the racers’ way. It felt like sacrilege. Please forgive me. But, I’m learning. It is another perspective on snow. And one that is not all bad, as race courses are fenced off from the general public. This means that most of the snow stays untracked. Luckily I’ve been very forgetful lately, leaving all sorts of things at the bottom of the hill that I have to go collect. I'm finding plenty of reasons to go play in the fresh powder that can hit me in the face. I'm accommodating the new perspective. 

Less than ideal skiing conditions in Vail.