Luxury in small doses - Necessities in large doses

Saturday - travel plus run 5km

We booked a fairly budget ski holiday this year.  OK OK, last year we lucked out where Neilsen were "testing out" a new luxury spa hotel and had upgraded all guests for free to extra large balcony rooms.  This year we were in a "standard basic" hotel for the same money.  But this year we booked the airport hotel and valet parking for our 4:30am start and bloody hell did we enjoy it.  Drop the car off for strangers to manage, big comfy bed, posh meal, saunter through the airport.  The downside? By the time we arrived at our resort we had been in climatically controlled environments for 24 hours - hotel, airport, plane, bus.  Ugh. So we went for a run.

Just as we were going out the hotelier advised us of a pedestrian walkway that routes all through town.  Perfect!  Traffic free running, past a castle then a turnaround and retrace our steps to the hotel.  Snowy, crisp, beautiful and kudos from our rep who couldn't believe we'd been out for a run after our 24 hours (including 6 hours sleep) of travelling.

Sunday - St Christina - 23 miles downhill skiing.

Everyone walks to the lift on the first day right? Chiampioni cable car and skiing.  Getting the leggies back, remembering to do my boots up, stuff like that... oh, and looking for some tree runs.  There may have been a little wading!  We started to hanker after walk routes.

We moved upto Col Raiser to knock off all the runs in the area, played on a slalom route and had coffee and cake in the sun where we decided to call it quits after a lot of staring into the distance and wondering if we could hike it to Alpe de Susi, which we could just see over in the next valley.

We roamed into Ortisei ski area for the 10km run from top to bottom which was a dream and then headed back to Santa Christina.  Screwed up our efforts to hop onto snow for a hike back to the hotel and ended up walking down the hiking route in our boots before catching a bus from the central bus stop back to Selva Val Gardena.  

Typical that our boots were the muddiest in the boot room.

Chicken with chips last night improved into the best tasting Carpaccio since the vineyards in Penticton.  The aroma of horseraddish.  It was AMAZING.

Unfortuately it was a promising start and I didn't really get that mouth-watering excitement about any other dish all week.

Monday - Ortisei and Mt de Susi 32 miles including a bunch of cross country

Took the bus back to Ortisei then the cablecar to Alpe de Susi.  On the first lift we saw a 'cross country map as we sidled overhead on the chair lift so we skied to it and skinned off across the plateau to Saltira hut for a coffee then on to the main cross country area.

As a ticket man was checking passes (you need a different ticket for cross country which we weren't about to buy on top of the 500 Euro's we'd just spent on downhill lift tickets) we continued by on the walking path, figuring they can't stop you walking on a national park footpath for free.  We debated whether to stop at the mountain restaurant for early lunch at 11 but it felt too early so we continued.  

Like an oasis in the desert, after 30 minutes we crested a hill to find one of those perfect hiker cafés lurking just out of sight.  Delicious food for less than 20 Euro.  

Back on the trail we lurched towards impressive looking towers with the intention of skiing around and beyond if we could but there was no way!  As my toes started to burn from an injury I picked up in the (now lost in time) snowy UK winter of 2015, I began to dread the return journey to lifts, downhill and afternoon respite.  Just as TSK started to complain about his back, we crested a hill and again, like an oasis, found a lift and downhill routes all back to civilisation... well, the rest of the Alpe de Susi area.  

We returned via lift to Ortisei and bus back to the hotel where we slept all afternoon... me with my foot in the air.

Tuesday - Sella Ronde downhill 27 miles including lifts.

Sella Ronde was on TSK's repeat list.  I must've been really tired from the previous day's effort because I followed him around like a lost puppy and, TBH, a lot of the scenery was lost on me.

...I don't know why

There was a lot of queuing, it being half term, and a lot of shoving so I didn't enjoy the lifts at all.  A lot of people we talked to said they were going to attempt the whole Ronde route on Thursday when their kids were in ski school.  We immediately vowed not to do anything touristy on Thursday which was a bugger since I had my eye on the hidden valley route again.

Castles in the snow.

I guess in retrospect it's sweet that I spent Valentine's day paying more attention to my husband than the view.

Our neighbours in the hotel dining room took the time to leave little chocolate hearts at everyone's place.  

Sweet touch!

Wednesday - Vallongia cross country ski 13.4 miles

Someone let me get on the bus before suggesting that we walk back the way we've just come and buy lunch.  Someone (me) ignored that person and continued regardless.  Still, we had a bag of sweetened pineapple, a few nuts and a bit of chocolate - what could go wrong?

Set out on our "easy" walk up the Vallongia - after a few downhill routes to get there.  Avoided ticket man by following the path again.  We were so much more confident this year on the skins and the snow was hard packed, meaning we didn't have to break trail and half walked / half glided across the open fields, into woodland and beyond the places we recognised from last year.

We skied out on to the open plateau, far from any other nordic skiers and finally, around 12:00 approached a small patch of sunshine which was finally braking the frozen valley sides.  A Norwegian stopped for a brief, pidgin English chat and said, "This weather is just for us".  Little did we know that outside our valhallah, the rest of the resort was basking in +6 deg C temperatures.  

The Norwegian warned us that "beyond there is a point where you have to return".  He skied away and we sat under a tree, in a small circle of dry pine needles and ate our pineapple chunks and nuts.

We continued into the steep ascent that lay beyond the plateau.  Further than we went last year for sure.  The path narrowed and I wondered about the ski down.  No room for turns or snowplough through the trees and not enough snow to support a good tree-run ski.  It was getting a bit sketchy.

So we chucked our skis off the trail into a snow drift and continued on foot. Unfortunately we then topped out onto another plateau.

TSK spotting the view

Frozen

 I insisted on continuing enough to photograph a frozen waterfall and secretly berated myself for not buying that lunch before we returned to our skis to strap them to our rucksacs for the narrow descent.

Me, rekindling the relationship with my mountaineering rucksac of the 90's.

Once back on the flat, we slid and glided back to the parking area of the cross-country ski area.  We will have to return another year to develop this route further.

in the meantime, we enjoyed ice crystals as fine as moth wings.

We ate lunch in tee shirts on the sun deck of the (now open) nordic ski centre before heading off up the steep sunny side of the valley to walk to Dannoi.  The snow got thinner and more tennuous and we took excuses to walk on foot, not skis, up to the ruin of the Wolkenstein castle (fort) before giving up on skis completely, strapping them to rucsacks and descending to the Skiway which was being regenerated with snow brought into the resort on a truck.

We nodded reverently at the driver of the pow-machine as we slid the remaining distance down to our hotel.

Thursday - Val di Fassa 50mile ski downhill

Val di Fassa is a tiny ski area off the main Selle Ronde with a few hotels at its extreme.  I agreed to go ski there on the basis that we wouldn't have to ever stay there in the future.  If it turned out to be amazing I could always reconsider.  It seemed like a good easy day.

As anticipated, the Thursday rush on the Selle Ronde was in full force and the two final lifts to get into Val di Fassa were excruciating.  Lifts that seem to be made for the elderly - cable cars that dock at the speed of a cross-channel ferry and slide away on their travel even slower to avoid disquieting those less steady on their feet..  

However, once beyond these natural cattle grids, the Valley was dreamily quiet and it really was very beautiful.  

Amongst the beauty we found a mountain restaurant offering healthy veggie pasta and demolished fig and beetroot pasta dishes before going on to ski the entire area in two hours.  We must've been shifting some though as we covered a total of 50 miles (including lifts) which is my furthest ever travelled on (or with) a pair of skis by 12 miles.

The great thing about short days is they end in bars, with hot chocolate, with rum in.

Friday - last day blow out ski mountaineering to pic de Comica

Andrew agreed it would be a nice idea to finally ski from our door so we hiked around the corner and joined the path 30B.  We skinned for some time around the suburbs of St Christina until we emerged at the Valentine's day castle and spent a good 30 minutes trying to get off the path onto the piste and then off the piste onto a path.

More uphill hiking - now at least on some kind of trail until we finally emerged at the Monte Pana lift area for lunch.  As a location for bunny slopes and cross country, there was just a snack bar but we were already pretty tired and wanted to get going so we stomached short espressos, microwave pizzas dolled up with fresh rocket and cherry tomatoes and french fries with a peach iced tea for sugar.

We walked around a path I'd skied down earlier in the week - mainly to take a look at goats that were bleating and dancing around in the snow.  We then acquired the 'cross country ski trails which led us to following route 30.  Sadly, this followed a road so we used cross country skiing and touristy paths to try and keep the best track of the road.

The forest trail we found was keeping us far more entertained than following the road itself so that's what we stuck to.  We knew we were off route but were having too much fun to care. 

When we popped out of the trees, I was still adamant on heading for Monte Susi to claim that we'd skied from our door to the most remote end of the resort.  TSK had other ideas and headed off towards Mont de Sura.  I was pretty annoyed but realising how tired he was, I followed and eventually conceded (once we rose above the scenery) that it was the smart move.  Monte Susi was on the other side of a steep valley and still some un-tracked distance away.  Neither of us would have been fit for anything if we'd attempted it and we would have been pushing the boundaries of sensible skiing, potentially descending the closed runs late in the evening when we were tired and the piste bashers are trying to do their job.

The consolation prize was that we would achieve a Col and I was pretty sure that on this day, no-one else had got this close to the towering cliffs that make up the skyline of the Dolomites.

We gained the ridge and walked on up to a wall of rock, mud, ice and a little snow.  It was pretty tenuous.  The route around it would have involved us skiing around a boulder field which neither of us was really up for.  I offered to go ahead and see if there was anything over the top for us to exit onto rather than lead him up something awful only to have to retrace our steps.

He nodded enthusiastically, I left my skis and took a run at the slope ahead whilst he caught me up.  The slither of icy snow narrowed to 6 inches so I used rocks and poles to scrabble through a few heart-stopping moments when my rubber-soled ski mountaineering boot toes refused to hold and my life dangled on the grip of a ski pole tip.  

Pic de Comica

Then there was the shin deep snow that my boots now punched through and finally I stood on the summit of Pic de Comica, not feeling at all amused.  There was no time to celebrate now, as I ran over the top to be absolutely sure there was no cliff face between us and the sweetly humming chair lift at the top of Mont de Sura.  Hurragh!  A clean run-out.  A short, non too technical off piste descent onto a lovely rolling blue piste.  

I ran back from whence I came, this time shortening my poles to minimum length thinking that, should I plummet down the rocky ice slope, I could at least attempt to use them like an ice axe. The side effect was, they put my body into the perfect position for down-hilling and I managed every step in control.  As I reached TSK I noticed two people bringing themselves up behind us.

TSK was persuaded that my description of the route ahead was easier than retracing our steps so far through poorly conditioned snow and coming away without the prize of the col - though I'm sure that wasn't at the fore of his mind.  I also mentioned the couple behind us in a hope that this would reassure him we had assistance available if we needed to seek help.

We strapped the skis to our rucksacs again and kicked and swore our way up the rocky slope, across the shin deep snow and finally up to the Pic.  

The two behind us had obviously decided better of our alpine trek and entirely disappeared from sight.  Perhaps I imagined them.  The sense of satisfaction was immense for me.  I believe it probably came later for Andrew.

Looking over towards Monte Susi, TSK prepares for the descent.

The downhill off the top was too thin, therefore disappointing.  The pride in sliding off the top of the highest point, right at the bottom of the massive Dolomite crags - all under our own power - was immensely satisfying.  We hadn't seen another person for 3 hours and suddenly we were silently dropping in from the backcountry to head to the base with the Half Term holiday crowds.

We dressed in downhill clothing and rocked up at our favourite hot chocolate spot to order more rum.  It was a day for being inside and eating strudel.

I can absolutely say that we totally nailed the last day.

The best kind of sleepless itch...

One that has to be scratched by booking a ski holiday at 2:30am.

Santa up.

Plans for our much-anticipated day of uphill skiing were hatched over dinner last night when our dining room neighbours informed us that the Refugio at the chapel Santa Croce was serving impeccable food.  Those plans were sealed when all of our dining room neighbours refused to believe we would do such a thing as walk from the bottom of the hill to the top - never mind make it in time to eat our lunch there.


We took a short hike/slide down the riverside path to take the very short drag lift up to a level where we could put skins on away from the maddening crowd / onlookers.  Skinning up the slopes is forbidden, although I'm not sure where else we could go given the chronic lack of off-piste snow.

We had a little debate about where to set off from but settled on with just getting on with it.  I was still faffing with stuff and gear when TSK set off across the sparsely snow-covered hillside declaring his new skins to be witchcraft.  I think he was enjoying himself defying gravity.

Most things verbotten.

I on the other hand was struggling.  For the first time all week my skis and boots felt heavy on my legs and I doubted whether my knees would last the distance as my right one twitched with every step.  My downhill skiing has been fine because my cycling muscles are healthy but without any fell running behind me, TSK was - quite frankly wooping my ass at my own game.

No one particularly seemed to mind us trudging up the slope as we went close to the edges and generally walked the line few people would be using.  One father had to tell his boy to look out as he slid to a stop in front of us and we took the occasional wide lines around hillocks so that oncoming ski traffic could see us.

Our first mountain stop was in bright sunshine.  It was so warm, TSK was in a tee-shirt and I had to stop to do up some of the velcro on my unzipped trouser legs to make sure my knickers weren't showing any more.  I know, it's carnival in Italy today but we were, however, on hallowed turf (almost literally on the turf front) and I'm not sure you're supposed to show your knickers to celebrate lent.

We stopped to worship with coffee and slap on sunscreen.

TSK Striding out on the Pilgrim's path.

 Eventually we found the pilgrim's path to the chapel which skirted the slope 10 metres away from the side of the piste with an incredibly comfortable strip of trees between us and the tourists zooming by at 70 miles per hour on the other side.  Thankfully the pilgrim's path was covered in snow and convenient depictions of the crucifixion gave us a somewhat graphic countdown to the arrival of our lunch.  I started noticing them at VII and hoped they would only count up to XII or even better, X.

At IX I lost count.  I was so incontinently hungry I had to eat something.  An opened TORQ bar (from god knows when) was the perfect victim.  I would have eaten three mouths full of anything.  I was still starving when we topped out after 2 hours 30 minutes of hiking up hill at the top of the lift.  A large group of people were removing and racking their skis by the slope ready to take a final hike up the steep path to the restaurant.  We walked on our skis with them giving me a chance to catch up to Andrew and instruct him to proceed direct to base camp and obtain a table at the restaurant without stopping to breathe! - GO!.

I left him to rack skis and entered the restaurant with a group of 6 Americans.  I had passed most other people as they fought with ice, wind and ski boots.  The skins were holding their own today.

The Americans were told to wait 20 minutes for a table.  Keen not be considered a part of their group I cornered a waitress and begged for space for two people.  As I was shown to a shared table, my back bristled with wrath from the Americans who scurried in behind me to pile onto their table, still being vacated by its present occupants.  I was happily packed into a sweaty corner of the incredibly popular place alongside an Iti/German couple and a pair of Austrian skiers.  I vented my trousers further.  Verging on the indecent this.

We ate a very satisfying meal and passed on our knowledge of the hidden valley to the couple who were on a walking holiday whilst their son was skiing.

Unlike TSK, I had the energy left for more climbing but agreed that saving myself for the rest of the week was a good idea so, after a run back to the base of Ste. Croce, we walked the 10 minutes back to the hotel and relaxed with day dreaming, sleeping and an inappropriately long game of pool on a billiards table.

Back at the hotel we retold our tales of daring do to the other couples sitting with us at dinner.  Flavia was suitably inspired to walk down the valley the next day with Victoria and Gillia proudly announced that she was going to take a ski lesson instead of staying meek and declaring herself a lost cause.  My work there feels done.

Tomorrow is another day.

The Hidden Valley Uncovered *Warning - risk of Clichés and Overstatement*

A tantalisingly small quantity of snow fell last night.  Still, it was nice to see snow in the trees.  We grasped the opportunity to ride up to la Villa in the van with Pietre.  We scooted up to the tops, dropping down to Armentarola with a little diversion via the wrong piste (which was very pleasant).

After wrestling with the bus stop, we paid our 6 Euros each to the taxi driver to ride 25 minutes to Lagazzuoi cable car from where we embarked on the ski run of my life.  (no dramatisations here).

The view starting to appear from the fog.

We started out in thick fog - a kind of snow mizzle.  After around 200 metres we stopped with everyone else that had stepped out of our cable car... only a limited 25-30 people.

We all stood in awe and gawped at the magnificent scenery and laughed amongst ourselves in sharing a moment, luck, virtue, something more pure than a snap on Instagram.

Deep seated shared joy and incredulity.

I waited until everyone had left and set of with my arms outstretched.  Namaste, mother nature, Namaste.

At every turn in terrain the view tumbled away in frosted turrets of pink granite on both sides of the valley.

Tiny mountain huts, chapels, shelters and animal sheds nestled amongst the rocky outcrops.

At times we caught up with our cable car neighbours and at times we let them float ahead and enjoyed the silence.  Crows soared overhead.

Conifers and Ponderosa pines clung to the sides of the valley.

Wisps of cloud filtered through the towers on the crags like the ghosts of soldiers in castles fought for and lost.

The icy fingers of time clutched to rock one moment then slid away to be caressed by the sunshine and blue skies.

A number of flat sections of piste gave away why this route is reserved for experienced skiers only.  Speed is needed to cross flats and rises and with no obvious ski patrol a high-speed crash would be risky.

Some stopped at the refuge part-way down.  Others (including ourselves) continued to the base refuge for coffee where we were mostly entertained by the Newfoundland dog mooching about on the flat roof of the café.

We momentarily made new friends with the Italians on the next table as the waitress grouped our bills together. The first time this week I have not been mistaken for being German.

Taking inspiration from mountain textiles and colours.

It was all over too soon.  I didn't want to leave this beautiful and heavenly place.  I felt like I could have spent my life there - chopping wood or waiting tables.

I was spoilt by the prospect of hiking back up or of moving on to other areas to enjoy the good snow.  TSK didn't feel like he wanted to learn to skin up hill on something so (recently in his mind) steep and intimidating so we set off down the trail to base to practice on something more blue.

The way we just came.

The long ride out of the valley is often (for mere normals) via a horse-tow whereby 2 slightly overweight ponies trot 30-40 people dangling on a rope-tow along a trail of around 1 km.  We had been told that there is one point where the horses have to canter to stay ahead of the ski train and also to get enough momentum to get up an impending slope.

We had visions of a long and steep up hill tow which, to be honest, would make good skinning practice for TSK.   Even though we both fancied the horse tow - I mean who wouldn't? Right?

Sid and Juniper wait to pull some colour

However, when we saw the brightly coloured train of 50 or so skiers and boarders hanging onto the back of the receding horse cart, we quickly decided we fancied neither the thrill or the company of the horse-tow and our somewhat romantic image of gently slaloming behind a stallion with the wind in our hair disappeared.

We were happy to hold on to 3 Euros and ski-glide out.  It was in actual fact quite flat and a bit of an anti-climax so we headed for the nearest blue where we could dig out a pair of skins and give TSK the opportunity to practice on something a little bit challenging.

Unfortunately he forgot his skins.

We set about making the most of the rest of the day by ski-ing a large portion of the Corvara slopes, excepting the ones we will ski later on the Sella Ronde.

Slightly alarming mini golf on offer.

Calling it quits about 3 pm we started to make our way back dropping down to la Villa base after the last lift down to near our hotel.  We had already planned to walk home along the river and passed Frosty about 5:30 on his way to his next appointment as we rocked into our hotel to claim the last two cakes at tea time then hit the sauna.

TSK cooked himself and I threw some yoga shapes in the solarium above the pool.  The perfect end to the perfect day.

Step away from the desk and into the light.

Before going on holiday I had the most stressful week at work.  Forget everything I've told you about stressful weeks over the last 2 years.  This was the worst and left me clenching my jaw again and the resulting chronic toothache.  Thursday and Friday eased off but I was balancing handing things over to the grad, getting my essentials done and empowering my boss to do the rest.

Friday night was as uncomfortable as it can be for two large people in a 3/4 size bed and every time I lay on my front to put my teeth under gravity and stop them clenching, a knee or an elbow fell out of bed or abused my husband.  I felt like I had been asleep for 20 minutes when the alarm went off but it was holibobs so I leapt out of bed.

Father was not so speedy so we arrived at the airport stressed, late and without a seat together on the plane which was, at least, on time.  4 hours later we were dropped off at our luxury hotel and all of the stress fell away like shattered glass in the opalescent blue sky of a mountain resort.

Skis were stashed, our suitcases were wheeled into the building on a golden trolley by a man wearing a suit and cummerbund and our balcony looked out onto nothing but pine trees, snow and the crags at the head of the valley.  W.E.P.!

We passed the day in the valley, sorting out forgotten ski kit and sat down with the rep in the evening to pick his brains.  We were really impressed with Neilsen Italy's rep Richard Frost aka "Frosty" who, rather than laughing at our uphill skis and excessive kit, gave us some really tantalising pointers for great days out.  He genuinely seemed to appreciate that we were out there to hunt for nature and escapism, not thrills, queues and over-priced excesses.

We went to dinner inspired and in return for our investment, the dinner was inspirational.

There were no surprises about the view from the window in the morning except that the promised snow had not arrived.  Flurries fell as we ate our breakfast.

The ski-ing was a little faltering as Andrew realised his bindings had not been set correctly by the vendor in Germany so we wobbled down the hill to the shop who gleefully and helpfully fixed the problem on the first set of touring skis they had ever seen.  We then quickly lifted up to the top of Stanta Croce before stomping over to and around the church and Refugio.

The weather was already taking on a biblical feel and we soon skitterred back down across wind slabbed ice and mud to the safety of the blue runs for an easier warm-up.

We had coffee before heading to Corvara resort proper to ski the longer runs and have a play on the blue slopes.  Andrew lost a bit of boot so I skied the black before being reunited with both Andrew and the bit of his boot.  The tastiest veggie pizza I've ever eaten was lunch before one more trip down the black then ski-ing the riverside path from Corvara all the way back to the hotel.  Mostly downhill but enough flats and rises to give Andrew the opportunity to learn to walk with skis on.

We called it  a day around 3pm.  I was resolutely satisfied that although my downhill muscles had a burn on, my ascending wasn't bad at all and in fact, my endurance seems OK after my weeks off with the lurgy.

And prepare to ski

I am poorly again.  Third cold in 2 months and the chesty cough from the last one still has not gone.  I had an x-ray on Friday.

The work week has been a nightmare.  I gave up on exercise by Tuesday morning at yoga although I did manage Thursday morning's shapes.

On Saturday we drove to the ski shop... in Ilkley, to see the people who sold me my boots 3 years ago about the foot problems I experienced two years ago which stopped me running part-way into my Ironman training.  I don't want to go through that again.  In fact, I am still nursing the tendonitis that I acquired back then.

I had an appointment at 3.

I was seen at 5:30.  In any other shop anywhere else, this would have made me livid but somehow, spending the day surrounded by skis and skiers and climbing gear and like-minded folk made me super happy.  I chatted, joked and walked around in circles in my boots... oh how I love those touring boots and looked forwards to Italy.  I have every reason in the world to get well again.  I have every reason in the world to sink into a haven of training and nature and sanctitude.  I'd say solitude but this year, TSK will be with me on his touring skis and I am so excited for it.

Today I am sat on the sofa, buying ski maintenance tools and I am very very happy.

TSK on a sketchy black in Mayrhofen last year.

Ski day 6

Desperate to get one adventurous walk in on my holibobs I set myself the challenge to travel from my door to the glacier using as few lifts aa possible. I set out across the fields and walked along the river tracks while Andrew got on the bus.

I caught the Hockburgbahn to the mountain and the tal lift to meet Andrew at the Tux 150. From there we descended to Rastkogel and ate chocolate cake at Heidi's hutte before descending to the Eggalm lift then climbing over and down to Eggalm area.

Andrew took the bus and I was on my own again to start the beautiful hike up the valley past rock bands,  waterfalls,  trees and songbirds.  I have to look up a river bird about the size of a sparrow but black with a white belly.

There were cheesy gnomes and lots of cross country skiers on the tracked runs - which tbh, I found incredibly sanitised and boring.

I was disappointed to find the mountain trail closed due to avalanche risk but enjoyed passing through a farmyard with jovial farmer in tow. After a short foray along the river,  sadly I had to climb the opposite side of the Valley and inevitably had to climb up to the road and an overflow car park for the glacier.  I bypassed it as best I could but soon ended up back on the road with a quarter mile walk between two concrete walls to get into the village.  Eventually I got back on skis on the seemingly flat field into town.

Assuming it to be slightly downhill I removed my skins, only to find it slightly uphill.  Without my long touring poles I found no traction on the path and my foot was aching with the effort of paddling on ice so I took my boot off for a rest while I put my skins back on and persuaded Andrew to meet me at the bottom of the route 1. I couldn't face much more skiing.
We had a delectable lunch in a posh hotel in Hintertux which was worth it for the day. We headed down by bus, getting straight on then off again and on to the train.  An excellent day to close out on.

Ski day 5

We travelled up to the much anticipated Ahorn area of the mountain. It felt a bit like travelling again with a change of busses and a new lift. It was -11°C in the car park and bloody freezing on top.

We nailed the red run with the odd twitch on ice then headed for the blues to reinstate confidence before hitting the fun park. It would have been fun if we hadn't had frozen fingers every time we arrived at the front of the queue to go down then had to get on a freezing lift with no covers between each run. After 3 goes, we gave up and went for coffee.

After that we skied the red a few times and filmed each other so I could check my technique. Then we trundled down red 4 to hit the black and enjoyed every minute except for the occasional wobble on ice. When we got to the bottom,  I was grumpy and couldn't decide what to do next so we took the obvious course of action - lunch - to debate the options.

Lunch of pizza was eaten outdoors to avoid the smell of fags inside and I again luxuriated in sheepskin.

I made the call to end the ski day. I was pissy and couldn't foresee enjoying my time in the main Mayrhofen area so we returned to the hotel by taxi (the busses stopped running for lunch), dropped our skis then paid €8 for a return train ticket to do some shopping.  Some quite vigorous shopping which resulted in me acquiring a new ski coat and backpack to take the day to day stress off my OMM one and give me something to carry skins in if I decide to do some trekking tomorrow.

It was all in all a successful day as I felt bloody good about taking time off.  I had some weird justification for buying the rucksack based on improving my day to day life as I make it part of my work inventory and get away from that boring,ugly Targus bag. Since I was awake half the night thinking about my bloody job I figured I owe myself an excuse to love it,  even if it just pays for the toys.

I am looking forward to tomorrow,  whether it snows or not but I am also looking forward to getting home,  seeing the girls and getting back on my bike.  I had forgotten just how much this holiday (no matter when it occurs) affects my acquisition of base condition.  Exercising all day every day for a week should set my performance in good stead and I can't wait to play with that.

Ski day 4

Started off at our local resort today which made for a short and sweet bus ride and not so long a queue for the lift aa we were up early as usual.  (If I could sleep this well at home,  getting up in the morning would be a breeze... but then I would have to enjoy my ride to work as much as skiing all day).

We gradually made our way over to the as-yet unexplored Eggalm area via a ski route which was far more successful than our previous encounter with the trails of Mayrhofen. I enjoyed the travel and Mr Rodgers progressed his competence in managing icy sections of piste.

In Eggalm we enjoyed black runs and wonderful mountain restaurant experiences, my favourite involving sheep skin rugs on a bench, filling me with renewed enthusiasm to make my home cosier and more lovely. The day seemed too long until we tried to leave and then we ended up doing a drag lift twice which made my leg hurt and then got on the wrong lift but... we got there in the end.

On the way down I had my first crash but it was on a black run so not far to fall, just a long way to slide... and right in front of a ski instructor too. That warranted a coffee before we left and enjoyed the descent before the crowds arrived.

Ski day 3

That mainly illusive feeling of independent travel one gets from a package ski holiday, yet you book away because you know no matter what your booking, you're going to pay a stack of money so you might as well have a ski monkey to take the pressure off coordination of transport.

Today we travelled to Hintertux. We nearly took the bus but it didn't stop because we expected it to be labelled "Hintertux" not "glacier". So we walked back to the station with minutes to spare.

The steam rose off the swollen river creating an eirie scene like something from a hithcock movie set in Eastern Europe.  There's no barriers at road crossings here.  People are trusted to stop and look.  Clearly this doesn't always work as we cringed at several motorists who queued in traffic with their rear bumper teasing the tolerances of the train we knew was about to appear any moment through the fog.

Once on board,  we were overjoyed that in the fog the train pooped at every crossing. We streamed past motorista. It could only have been better if the steam train had come.

The next bus was the one we wanted.  Luxury coaches to whisk passengers up to the highest mountain area. We drove through Mayrhofen which rang a few bells then on up the hill.  Tempting as it was to ski home, it took 1 hour to drive to Hintertux and we thought we were already there 3 times. I need no further alarm bells.

The temperature outside the bus was -16 °C

Ablutions done,  we rode 2 lifts before any skiing happened.

It was in excellent condition.  Got a bit choppy towards the end of the day but it was being pisted occasionally.

Due to the excess cold and wind chill approaching that I have seen in Canada,  we ate lunch at 11.30 and took tea at 2.45 before doing the last 3 runs and heading home.

We walked straight off the lift onto the bus then a failed train meant it was just another luxury bus ride back to Hippach.

We stopped for a gluwien on the way home and I actually had my limited German understood by someone. Things are improving.

Ski day 2

I proudly declared us hardcore as the only ones at breakfast this morning then Andrew reminded me that I was in bed at 7pm the night before.

We had 2inches of snow at the village last night. We dressed for cold and caught the 8.30 bus while everyone else was still drinking coffee.

At the hill we invested in goggles to help Andrew see in the snow blizzard and a ski lock to help me eat my lunch indoors without being wracked by paranoia.  We were still early enough to make it up the escalator instead of being stopped by the queue for the lift.  A short run to get into it again then on to the next lift over to Rastkogel - the bus on a string Tux 150.

The wind was brutal but aa long as it kept snowing I could cope. When it started blowing the snow up the mountain so it tried to lift the hood on the chair I was less impressed and we had to stop quite soon to thaw ourselves and our face protection.
Along with coffee and strudel we then skied every blue and red in that area before lunch and playing with the Penken mittlestation where we found some off piste that was skiable and took advantage of a snowboarder's broken arm to ski in the tracks of a passing piste bully.

We declared our second run down 48 our last before skiing a retreat to the lift this time,  not dicing with the ice and mud on route 30.

It was 2.45 when we got to the queue for downhill and we were down soon enough, enjoying a warm shower and heading out to buy much coveted supplies of food for the inevitable midnight snacks if either of us manages less than 13 hours straight through of a nighttime.

Ski day 1

We were oh so careful we were.  We rented tsk some skis, travelled to our local hill, skied a few blues to get our feet settled and drank some coffee with early lunch at 11:30. We then did the occasional red, heading back towards our way off the hill which we set about taking at 3pm, a little later than we anticipated.

The descent route started so well as a lovely bimble through the trees and we scoffed at the Scotts attempting to cut straight down the tree line then things started to get nasty with a bit of ice then an entire hillside with a scraped section of brown as wide as the piste and taller than us both.  While I tried to side step it Andrew had other ideas which didn't end well and nearly ended up with him in the stream.

At one point we gave up and took our skis off to walk off the side of the route next to a forest and ended up helping while someone was pulled out by the arms, having slid into the trees.  Those with hire skis or no respect for the ones they were wearing skittered across the mud above us. Few made it out the other side upright.

It took us 1.5 hours to get down.
I ate dinner and went to sleep for 13.5 hours.

Travel Day

Travel day.  Amazing getting over the peak then completely relaxed in Manchester airport. Talkative on the plane and coach and at dinner then a walk towards the lift before collapsing in bed.

Travel Day - good stress?

Most hated part of package holidays?

When you are your own responsibility and you have to get to the airport on time. This time massively improved by a mid-day departure meaning all I had to do was be in Cheshire by 11 am. Check-despite the snow over Woodhead.

At 12.30 we were duly dispatched to the airport by my dad and once through check-in without any illegal packages being discovered,  I could relax. I even bought myself a new camera to record my first package holiday in 2 years.

There wasn't even anyone to get annoyed with on the bus transfer and we were welcomed at our accommodation by the proprietors and the odour of cattle and hay. Welcome to my skiers' farm retreat.

Second physio on the calf muscle

Definition of a sports physio: when you turn up for treatment of your spasmed and very sore calf muscle with the news that you're going skiing next week and his response is, "Excellent!".

Post Christmas Indulgence & run 5 of 100

On 27^th December I was awake in the early hours of the morning, dreading that the snow would have gone by the time I got up.  I looked out of the bedroom window to check but it was still falling so I went back to sleep to see what santa bought me as a late Christmas present by the time I woke up.

It was a beautiful snowy day and I ate my breakfast full of the anticipation of what was to come but… ski-ing or running???

I stuck my nose out of the front door.  The cover wasn't bad but not brilliant either.  I ran up to the loft and checked the view out across the hillside where tufts of grass were protruding from the slopes in places.  I decided it wasn't good enough for skis and went off for a run instead.

After 10 minutes I was crossing sledger’s park, children already starting to amass, giggling in the sunshine.  I toyed with the idea of heading straight home for skis but instead decided to tire myself out on a short run before resorting to skis, hoping that I wouldn't do what I did 2 years ago and injure myself ski-ing, screwing my early-year run season.  I phoned Andrew from the bottom of the Rivelin Valley, telling him to get the ski stuff ready.

When I got in I changed clothes briefly then skinned up the skis and set about walking to the park.  It was chossy, slow and rubbish but it didn’t matter – we were skiing in the UK.  Sledging on planks was what it was really but we enjoyed ourselves nevertheless and headed home tired and happy afterwards.

On Sunday, I really was tired from the exertion so decided to have one weekend off cyclo-cross by way of a “rest-week” – keeping up the heavy training for a bit but laying off the hard racing with a view to another short recovery before Derby and the National champs polish off the season.  Instead we had a walk into town to try out some sofas that we might want to sit on.  It's a hard life.