My lost ski seasons...

It is said that "absence makes the heart grow fonder," and I know that to be very true as far as skiing is concerned. For me, all begun when I served in the French Air Force in the sixties, and being stationed in Provence and Corsica, I lost one and a half ski season, only skiing during short leaves and making the whole process a grueling teaser.

Later, and because I had decided to enter the ski industry and had moved to America, I spent another eight winters in New York, where each season, skiing was limited a first to a few outings in nearby New England or even at some local resorts that I found to be awful and not worth the experience. The only good skiing I was able to spare was during certain industry events, like Ski Business Week, and at sales meetings or product testing sessions that took place in the West, were I had a chance to hit the snow, and that were short and almost torturing experiences.

All along, I felt terrible and was longing for living again in the mountains where good skiing was possible. This long period without being on the slopes for endless periods is why, one day, more than a quarter of a century ago, I was foolhardy and took the chance to moving my whole family for good to Utah and never regretted what to some looked like a foolish move. I also suspect that this forced separation made my love for the sport much more acute and made skiing a vital experience for me, which is likely to last until I can no longer stand on a pair of boards...