Archive for the ‘boarding’ Category

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Day 8.

February 11, 2008

Day 8 started with the combined hangover of the Irish and Aggletonian contingent of our happy group. As such, Dave and I headed up the mountain for a few quick runs. The snow was lovely, but the weather was pretty ropey. The high wind at the top, and the heavy snow at all levels was making things a bit tricky. After a couple of satisfying runs, we met Dec at the top of the Whistler Gondola for lunch.

After lunch, the three of us rode down to the middle station again. Dave continued down the mountain for a massage, and the previous evening’s booze took its toll on Dec, who gondolised his way beck down the mountain.  The weather was still pretty shoddy, but I figured that I had a couple more runs in me before heading off the hill.

The gondola back up to the top was a revelation. The snow suddenly stopped, revealing the lovely sunny day that had been struggling to get out for the previous few hours. Wary of the weather reports, though, lots of people chose to stay away. All that was left, seemingly, was me, a couple of inches of fresh powder, and the hill. For those few hours, there could conceivably have been nobody left in the world, and for those few hours, I didn’t care. I went on to enjoy three beautiful runs down to the middle station—each on an essentially empty, freshly snowed-upon piste—for the rest of the afternoon. It was quite simply one of the finest afternoons of my life. Although my less-than-rapid riding style—I’ve referred to it as “Boarding Miss Daisy”—probably isn’t terribly exciting to watch, I had the time of my life, gently meandering down wide, open, powdery pistes without anyone to watch out for, without anyone watching out for me, without any bloody skiers, without a care in the world.

The final time I got down to the middle station, to find the way back up was closed for the day, I was genuinely upset. I knew there and then that the stacked coincidences of Bingo’s hangover, Dec’s—well—hangover, Dave’s massage, the heavy snow in the morning, the beautiful afternoon, and the lack of people may never happen again. I’ll probably never have an afternoon on a snowboard that perfect again. But I had that one afternoon, and I loved every second of it.

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Never trust me. Never.

February 10, 2008

And this is why.

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How am I supposed to enjoy myself here when all it does is snow?

February 8, 2008

I must be the unluckiest person in the world. I came here to enjoy a bit of boarding and banter with my chums. But instead of nice boarding conditions, all it does is bloody well snow. How am I supposed to enjoy a nice run down a nice well-groomed piste when 20 cm of fresh powder fell overnight?

Even as I write this post, after a day of repeatedly boarding Whistler top-to-bottom, it’s snowing heavily at the village altitude. Knowing my luck, it’ll be snowing even heavier up the mountain. It’s been doing nothing but snowing now for three days solid. Maybe if I’m lucky there’ll be no snow tomorrow, but I’m not holding my breath. I hate Whistler 🙂

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Days 3 & 4 – a brief synopsis

February 7, 2008

Day 3 was just about perfect, in all honesty.  Although critics may knock us for a certain lack of the exploratory spirit, we absolutely caned the shit out of one run in particular. While Dec warmed up on the Middle Station nursery slope, Bingo, Dave and I went to the top. The weather at the top of the Whistler Gondola was pretty rough; a very strong, cold wind, and so much snow that it was hard to see.  Once we got over that though, we found  a run with only a few people on it, and the most perfect powder for boarding on / over / through. We had a lazy run down it stopping every now and then to exchange our views. We seemed pretty unanimous in agreeing that this was the best boarding we’d done to date. Back down to the Middle Station to pick Dec up, we headed back to the top unanimous in that we’d do exactly the same run again.  We did, for most of the day. With a constant stream of pretty heavy snow, the run got better through the day. We ended up going all the way to the bottom of the mountain, where we found an Irish pub (on which I shall keep my views muted) and  got a few drinks in. All in all, a perfect day. It took more than one conversation with Bingo to wipe the smile off of my face, so that speaks volumes.

Day 4  started slowly, but ratcheted up pretty significantly. Again, it had been snowing all night.  After finding a crappy piste, we found ourselves mid-morning having done pretty much no boarding. We decided to try to run top-to-bottom of the Whistler gondola as many times as we could. We did it a bunch of times. Each time, the run was clear, the powder deep, the company great, and the boarding excellent. After Dec disappeared in the afternoon for a foot massage (he’d previously used the wonders of the interweb to diagnose the cause of his numb toe as a stroke), Bingo, Dave and I tried to get in as many top-to-bottom runs as we could, stopping as little as we could. After a couple of runs, only stopping twice, we went for one more go.  On reflection, maybe I shouldn’t have.  In between the jet lag and the aftershocks of my previous appalling mood, I haven’t slept very well for the last week. Before the final run, I was mentally exhausted. Thankfully, as a consequence of playing rugby as a prop, I’ve trained for most of my life for short bursts of extreme effort, followed by a bit of rest. This training renders the muscles which I possess almost entirely unsuitable for the sustained effort of snowboarding. My legs were pretty much shot, and I wasn’t having too good a time of things.  Either way, I reached Whistler Village exhausted but happy, and ready for a good rest. I got back to the chateau, and had a good nap for a couple of hours.

Since then, it’s been snowing really heavily at the village altitude. We’re going to try to get out as soon as possible today to enjoy the fresh powder, on hopefully fresher legs. Dave just offered me a quick beer before we hit the slopes. Although I didn’t reply, he’s reading this as I type. In response, I shall offer to hit Dave before he offers me another beer. Life’s OK.

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Day 2 – un jour non-Declanique

February 5, 2008

After another night with next to no sleep (making it four in a row now), on a slightly overcast morning, we four, we happy four, we band of mothers, set off up the Whistler Gondola for another day of green run-based silliness. With Dec now able to turn in both directions following his lesson [after 7 days of boarding, we’ve found out that he’s not actually a goofy after all, but has ambitiously been learning to ride switch before brushing up on his natural stance], we were full of expectation.

We headed down an innocuous-looking green run, about 20 metres down which Dec realised that he couldn’t yet turn on steeper hills. He set off back down the mountain in the gondola to sod around on the nursery slope before his lesson in the afternoon. With no Dec,the remaining three of us got some good runs under our belt. It was beautiful. Fairly empty pistes, ok weather, and great snow led to what was for me the best morning of boarding I’ve had yet. At one point, I felt that rather than being some bloke who could turn in both directions, then traverse for a bit, just fleetingly I felt like an actual snowboarder. Not a good one, but a boarder nonetheless.

We checked in on Dec a few times, caught him with an ok Attenborough-style piece-to-camera which I will upload as soon as I work out how*, and then gondolated down the mountain for a light lunch. Dec went off for his lesson, and Aggleton picked out an interesting-looking run for the afternoon. It was his worst idea yet. Apart from a few sections, the whole of the run was on flat, meandering traverses. It was horrible. Just dreadful. After having got down from the top of the whistler gondola to the middle station in about 15-20 minutes in the morning, it took us about 3 1/2 hours to get down from the top of Little Whistler to the same place. The only plus was that [purely out of necessity, as my thighs were on fire] I started riding a bit of switch. I even got a few turns in. We headed back down the mountain in the gondola from the middle station. and back to the hotel to meet Dec. There, I picked up some more shitty news just to keep my rolling foul mood really topped up, and went out for dinner.

Upon our return, I fell asleep in a chair in front of the tv—the first time I’ve fallen asleep trouble-free in five nights—and woke up to find that everyone else had gone to bed. Not one to break with tradition, though, as soon as I got into bed, I had a rotten night of sleep, which brings us all up to the present; me laying here in bed writing blog posts at 5am.

Who knows what else today holds? We’ve only got 5 eggs left, so I’m envisaging a fight for breakfast. Should be fun to watch, if nothing else. Hopefully, the four of us can enjoy the boarding together. As much as I enjoyed yesterday morning, I’m here primarily not to board, but to spend time with my three friends with whom I’ve undertaken this ridiculous transatlantic endeavour. Hopefully, today will see more of that.

*I’ve worked out how.

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And so it begins

February 5, 2008

I woke up yesterday still consumed by a particularly foul mood. Not even the picture postcard surroundings, puerile banter, and relentlessly, terrifyingly happy Canadians had done much to cheer me up. So it was with no small amount of insouciance that I got back into my boarding gear, tied on those bloody boots, waited for Dave and Bingo, and then made my way with the boys to the Whistler gondola.

We had planned a fairly unambitious first day back; a trip to the top of the Whistler gondola, no chair lifts, certainly no drag lifts, and then the easiest route back down the mountain. It seemed like a good plan…

Heading up the side of the mountain, my demeanour soon started to lift. I was back. I’m not a natural boarder by any stretch, and I’ve only been once (it’s hard to count this), but it’s something I really enjoy doing. Strapping a plank to one’s feet and hurtling down a mountain isn’t something that anyone should be able to do, yet it’s something at which I’m ok. The physical discipline of boarding is enjoyable enough to me; add in the magnificent scenery and the cameraderie, and it becomes a splendid pursuit. To not enjoy the gondola ride up the side of Whistler on a beautiful sunny day with a freshly-waxed board, and three great friends would be simply inhuman.

When we got to the top, the view was spectacular. Everyone was bounding around with a smile on their face, and—for the first time in days—my worries seemed behind me.

The boarding was great. The snow was soft and forgiving, and turning came back to me pretty much straight away. Dave was good, Aggles was significantly better than he was the first time we did this, and Dec—the toe-side taoiseach—was still so enamoured with the sight of the mountain that he decided to spend the whole day staring at it. The choice of the easiest route down the mountain was, however, not a good one. The Whistler map marks the easiest route, but perhaps a corollary should be included, namely “for skiers”. While I’m sure that seemingly endless flat traverses are fine for even the least talented of skiers, for me they’re hell. Not really being great at keeping up the necessary speed to glide long traverses on a board, and with no sticks to push along with, there’s no way of building up any momentum, so I have to kind of oscillate my way along the flat, trying to creep my board forward until I reach a bit with enough of a gradient to get me going again. It’s awful, and it hurts.

At lunch, Dec headed off for a private lesson, leaving me, Bingo, and Ginger for a few [gravity-assisted, this time] runs before heading back down the mountain to watch the superbowl. I stayed in the flat, in the hope of getting a bit of sleep, which meant that 5 hours later, after Dec’s return, when Dave and Aggles poured themselves back into the flat uttering gibberish, Dec and I were the only sober ones. All was not lost, though. Aggles had spotted a mexican restaurant—called Caramba!—which seemed like the perfect idea. We went there, ordered a round [of Corona], got seated amid the Mexican-themed decor, and had a look at the menu. Not one Mexican item on there. Unless you count pizza.

After a hearty [roast] dinner in which we found out two things about a drunken Dave—to keep your arms and legs clear of his mouth when he eats if he’s a bit tipsy, and that he’s got by a distance the worst chat-up lines ever invented—we retired back to our rooms. Andsotobed.

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The difficult second trip

January 6, 2008
Yohimbe!

The Godfather had The Godfather: Part II.
Alien had Aliens.
Blacula had Scream Blacula Scream.
And lo, it came to pass that sevendaysofgaysontrays is to have SHOUTYboughtaringinstead.

We’re doing it again, and this time, we’re doing it bigger and better than before. Where the last trip lasted a week, this time, we’re off for 10 days. Where last time we stayed in Europe, this time we’re off to Canada. Where the weather last time was positively balmy—in an alpine sense of the word—this time it’s going to be sodding freezing. Where last time we went as novice snowboarders, this time we’re going as novice snowboarders who can turn in both directions. Except those of us who can’t; you know who you are.

As things stand now, we’re all booked up, and counting down the few weeks which remain. Having ridden my luck somewhat last time round, featuring one wipeout in which I swear I tasted my collarbone, I’ll be padding up somewhat more for the big trip. The gloves from last time served me well, however I feel that my natural arsepadding might be in need of some unnatural augmentation. Having seen the comfort and panache afforded to Dec whilst enjoying an Aasgaard-enhanced Mexican meal, I fear that my life may not be complete without one. Having seen the weather forecast, some kind of thermal underpantery may well be in order too

So, short of some posterial padding and some lovely clingy leggings, all the kit that I bought for last time should still be valid. All I have to concentrate on now is not knackering my knees, back, or face in any of my three remaining rugby matches—a tall task after a 100-minute extra time cup tie yesterday—and everything should be good. I’m sure that there’s absolutely nothing else at all which could go wrong.

Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Oh dear. We’re all going to die. Again.