The trick with changing snow

Yesterday was a wonderful skiing day. My wife and I went to Deer Valley and enjoyed a March weather with... December snow! This said, we skied on a wide variety of conditions linked to both the exposure and the elevation of the slope. From hardened man-made, spring corn, to powdery blown sections and even to pre-groomed rougher surface on one steeper run which was not intended for “family consumption.”

On difficult snow like the latter, I discovered that there is an incredible feedback phenom that exist between the surface of the snow – call it perhaps the angle the snow make with the ski base at any given moment – and a skier's body. This pair of angles (there are two skis) varies constantly as a skier evolves on an uneven, changing surface and the faster the trickier. So what happens is that feet and ankles must somehow read that fleeting and quickly changing angle variations and telegraph the adjustments that must be made all through the rest of the body. Call it instant feedback that trump our conscious faculties and that only miles of practice and a lifelong spent on boards can allow to working successfully. Trust me, that's quite an amazing possibility!

Nine lives (the sequel)

This morning, in reading my hometown's newspaper I was shocked to read that, mid-afternoon yesterday, a man fell more than 100 feet off a pedestrian suspended bridge that span the Morzine valley, just a couple of miles from the village where I was raised in the French Alps, and managed to survive his fall with only two broken ankles and some degree of hypothermia as he landed on a snow pile before sliding into the nearby creek.

The man, who happened to be Morzine's very own mayor was conscious when the helicopter picked him up before taking him to a hospital in Annecy. He apparently voluntarily straddled the guard-rail and for seemingly no reason took a plunge that ended up being quite miraculous. As we discussed the other day, he evidently had not used up his full reserves of lives, yet!

How I became a skier...

Yesterday, my wife asked me how I learned to ski. This was something I had never, ever asked myself. I actually began skiing when I was 7 on a pair of skis entirely handmade by my Dad. My older brother got a pair too, albeit a bit longer, and we went skiing at a place called “le tremplin” (the ski jump) just 250 yards from our home. We would side-step up the hill and schuss down, go over the jump, land and end up with a hockey stop.

Later, I participated into a school cross-country race which I found to be horrible. After that, I managed a few outing on the nearby “télébenne” that was 2 miles from my parents house and required carrying skis and poles both ways. Quite an undertaking. When I was 10 or 12, my parents bought me my first pair of manufactured skis, a pair of Duret “Contreplaqué” and I would again, occasionally go the the “télébenne” with our middle school. I remember envying my more fortunate comrades whose parents had hotels and small businesses, that were members of the Morzine ski club with their Rossignol “Soupless” or their “Dynamic” skis outfitted with Look Nevada bindings...

When I was a teenager, I finally got a job as a lifty with Le Pleney, a local mountain, worked there every Christmas, February and Easter school holidays and also earned the privilege to ride the lifts free during the week-ends in-between. That's when my skiing began to take off. Up until that point, I had received no lesson whatsoever. I just learned by observing and imitating other skiers and not necessarily the best! It's only when I began teaching skiing at the Avoriaz ski school that I had to attend a ski-instructor clinic in Chamrousse, near Grenoble, France, when I received my first pointers. Later on, in Avoriaz, I received some sporadic coaching, but by in large, I was very much on my own and taught myself how to ski...

Trip to old town

Our home is about 3 miles from old town Park City and yesterday, we walked all the way to our downtown location. On the way, we stopped at the bank and then went on to the post office, right on Main Street.

When our errands were over, we went to the Park City Transit Center, caught the free bus back home and about 25 minutes later we were back to the bus stop that's only 300 yards away from home. Our free bus system is a wonder that we ignored for too long and only discovered when we moved to our smaller home.

Before, we had no bus stops nearby and as a result never used the facility. Today, we used the bus system when our town is congested with big events, like the film festival or during the peak tourist season. When I used to ski Park City Mountain Resort, I would at time ride the bus back and forth when parking was too difficult. The Park City transit system is clean, comfortable, ski & bike friendly, it won't just take you wherever you want to go and whenever you want to get there - but it does it in a surprisingly green way. Park City's buses are all powered by bio-diesel and make it possible for you to reduce greenhouse gases while enjoying the Park City lifestyle.

Pre-season angst

It used to be different; I was always excited about my first skiing day. These days, there's a tinge of anxiety preceding my first day on the snow in the season. It's not that I had been off the slopes too long; five month and sixteen days to be exact, but there's a little something floating in the air that seems to holding me back. I think it's simply a measure of the wisdom that comes with age! I finally went yesterday and it was a wonderful day for beginning a new season.

Perfect weather, no one on the slopes and ideal snow. It's not that I feared hurting myself, but more perhaps that I was concerned about witnessing some decline in my technical abilities. I must say that these fears were totally unfounded and that I had a great time, skied all day on my favorite Park City runs (Thaynes and Jupiter) and left the scene at the end of the afternoon filled with regrets... The only negative was the harshness of my ski boots, which always is a problem after a summer spend barefoot or just inside clogs, sandals or running shoes. I'll probably get used to it!

Nine lives?

Just like cats, we all might have nine lives – or hopefully, even more! We all know that our lives are weaved with danger, fear, accident and luck (good and bad.) Navigating our existence is a matter of dodging the bullet and making it unscathed as we progress along the way. When I was 4 or 5 I made a frightful descent in a three-wheel wheelbarrow into a deep valley. I should have died, but I didn't.

Shortly thereafter, I almost drawn as I fell in a mountain creek overpowered with spring-run off and was luckily saved by a little boy that played with me that day; I even remember his name, Gerard Leserson. During my military service, car accidents were in the cards. I first had one while hitchhiking with my buddy Guibelin, in the south of France, when the 403 Peugeot we were in rolled over on the middle of busy Route Nationale 7; we all made it out okay. Another one, most spectacular, involved me and three others, inside another Peugeot – a 404 this time – that was driven by my good friend Michel Duret. The car hit a tree head-on after aquaplaning near Montpellier, also in the south of France. We were brought to the hospital and also all survived it well.

Still in France, one night, my brother almost got us into the lake of Montriond, when he hit a retaining wall at a high rate of speed; thanks heaven we stayed on the road. After that, my adult life became busy, filled with job and family responsibilities that shielded me from these elements of danger. Aside from a few close encounters while skiing and in spite of millions of miles flown the world over without a major crash, I have stayed quite safe. The last dangerous exercise I remember doing to drive up la Restonica narrow road in Corsica in 2006, and since then, I have stayed extremely secure, I don't want to spoil my remaining “lives...”

The joy of selling

When I worked for a paycheck I mostly was in sales and marketing and I have sold quite a few things. Big and small, remarkable and unforgettable, hard to close and routine, but I perhaps never have enjoyed it as much as when I sell a trinket on Craigslist these days. I don't use the service that often, but when I do it almost always works to my total surprise! The last item in contention was my Suunto sport watch that I have had for many years and that I never was able to figure out! What I wanted out of that watch was to compute my vertical drop while skiing and I never was able to assimilate the complicated maneuvers leading to tallying up what's such a big deal to me.

I even listed that achievement on my 2010 new year's resolutions, but failed miserably in my attempt! So, almost two months ago I finally threw in the towel and decided to move on with technology and get a new GPS watch that – if Santa is holding on to his promise and if I'm not naughty of course - I should wear it the day after Christmas. So to make room for that new toy, I sold the old one last night and felt as pumped up as I've ever been when I closed my biggest transaction ever!