Winding back the clock, the day had started early as we went to the nearest pub (“47”) to watch the England game. Sod’s Law dictated that this would be the first one worth seeing as we had to miss the last 20 minutes to ensure we caught the bus up to the skipark. Sure enough, 1-1 when we left and I heard it finished 2-2. Gah.
The bus was only $15 return per person and left from over the road. After 30 minutes or so, we were collecting our passes, boards, boots and separating for classes. Lou’s an utter novice having only been on a board once before – and that was the other week on Mount Dobson with Pam & Rob. I was judged to be in grade 4 (there are 6 grades) so headed up the chairlifts while Lou used the “magic carpet” and slid down the practise slope on her hands and knees for a few hours.
Every other time I’ve been snowboarding, the temperatures have been either t-shirt weather or just around freezing. Today, at the top of Coronet’s Express Way, the wind chill and stirred powder must have dropped it to around -10 degrees Celcius. Visibility at times was more something I’d heard about and experienced in the past than something I was actually enjoying.
The last run of the day especially was utterly new for me. I couldn’t even see the snow I was boarding on at times. The whole world was one big optical illusion. I could sort of feel my board moving, and I could hear it, but nothing seemed to be happening. Then I’d look up and an orange flag was approaching, fairly quickly. Then I’d look down and the “ground” was stationary. Then the flag was closer. At other times I’d catch a quick glance of the surface and I was moving sideways compared to how I felt I was going.
It made my head hurt. Or maybe that was falling backwards and cracking my skull on an icy run earlier.
The skier who ploughed into Lou and clobbered her knee. It’s got a nasty gouge in it, and it’s a rather bright red colour. Of course, typical skiier, no apology. She just sorted herself out and buggered off. This is the difference between skiiers and boarders. Boarders do stupid things, but if they hurt someone they bloody apologise. Also, if someone’s a skiier there’s more chance of them being French which is another reason to treat them with disdain.
But I digress.
We got back at a nice hour, nodding off on the coach, and ate far too much food and necked mulled wine I got from the supermarket. A spa bath and sauna to soothe aching muscles (and knee), and then some more beer in front of the telly.