A Tribute to Picabo Street

Ok so I've been majorly slack on the updating the blog front but once you've read the three posts from today you'll understand why. The last two weeks have flown by and provided many ups and downs. The culmination was this weekend's trip to Killington, Vermont which left 13 secondees 'snowed in' on the mountain. In the meantime New York City experiences the biggest snowfall since 1947 (nearly 27 inches in Central Park).

So I've finally found time to write some spiels (not without experiencing mild levels of abuse from some regular bloggers about the perceived lack of activity). Having lost 2 and a half working days as a result of the snow/Detroit issues I have been working hard to catch up. But as always Friday afternoon provides the sort of 'downtime' required to update this properly.

After getting back from Detroit, I nervously began counting the days until I hit the slopes. Having committed myself to playing football for the past few years, it had been some time since Bule skated down the runs of Mt Buller. Without my trusty mentor Olly "Olliwan" Wilhelm to guide my piste-al development, I was deeply concerned I would not be able to recreate my previous lofty exploits.

Drawing on the inspiration of US Olympic skiiing champions like Bode Miller, Sean White, Picabo Street and Misty Hyman (ok so I know she's a swimmer but her name is ridiculous), I found myself possessed as soon as I slipped into my boots and clipped into my Rossi Bandits. After taking some of the beginners down a few runs, it wasn't long until the blacks were being worked over by "It's SnowBule" and his partner-in-crime Glenn "G Unit" Ormsby.

The weather on Saturday was perfect. The sun was out, wind was almost non-existent and it was a balmy 10 degrees fahrenheit (you work it out). With 35 lifts and over 300 runs, G Unit and I were never disappointed in our search for exhillaration and inspiration. The contrast between the packed powder of Vermont and the icy slush of Mt Buller could not be more stark. I really enjoyed the ability to put turns in with confidence. Sunday was a little warmer but snow fell heavily as storms had beset the surrounding New England area.

Midway through Sunday we received a call from the base of the mountain. The biggest snowstorm in 50 years had hit NYC and in all likelihood we would not be able to get back that night. We met this news with an appropriately mature response - snow dancing and singing "It's a snow day, It's a snowday." We skiied out the rest of the day until the last lift. Upon hanging up the skis and ordering a well-earned cold beer, we received another call. The mesaage had not been relayed to the others and they had been waiting for us for 2 hours expecting to leave. Oops.

Hurriedly we made our way back to the lodge. I was nominated to take the first steps into the awaiting verbal onslaught. Some rogue South Africans wanted to try to drive out - yet they had not seen what was unfolding on the weather channel. 27 inches of snow in Central Park and widespread chaos on the roads. Given that the trip up (undertaken in far more hospitable conditions) had been scary enough with the Proteas behind the wheel, I was far from keen to try our luck that night. I found it extremely hard to stop myself from laughing when repeatedly the suggestion was made to "joost drive the cor and ef it snows, pork it on de side of de road, dood eh".

Thankfully common sense prevailed and we book another night at the Cascades Lodge. After enjoying a quiet dinner and drink, we retired to our rooms to consume the remaining beers in our fridge. An unexpected knock on the door revealed a topless male who immediately invited his other two mates into the room with a slab of Budweiser. The three unknowns continually hinted that they had travelled the world and listed numerous places they had been that were synonymous with Armed Forces bases (including Townsville). I became disturbed when the lad I know label "Dahmer" began talking some extreme material about blowing up kangaroos. The other boys looked to scared to ask them to leave so I stood up and announced that it's too late for me and I need some sleep. Thankfully the three trainee psychopaths took the hint and left.

The drive back on Monday was uneventful other than my inability to regain feeling in both of my big toes. The snow in and around Manhattan was spectacular but I'll leave that for my next post. Until then, stay safe, stay cool, stay Aussie (it's so much better that way).