Wow! Awesome!

Skiing/Boarding in powder is just the best thing. Over night we had about 3” of new snow (officially) but in places today the fresh powder was over our boots. It's a beautiful sensation moving through snow that is so light you can hardly feel the resistance against your trouser legs. Boarding in powder becomes more like water skiing as you just make fine adjustments of your weight and you change direction with ease. I don't know whether it's my new board or the snow conditions or both but today I felt like the Luke Skywalker of the slopes. My Jedi powers dictating the direction and my board just following. That's apart from the 20 or so times it didn't do what I wanted and I ended up sitting in snow so deep my arms disappeared up to my elbows when I try to push myself back up. At one point there's a small miracle when Weazle, Andy and myself all crash into trees within 5 feet of each other, Andy in particular performing a flukey manoeuvre over a fallen tree. While we are still trying to drag ourselves back out a Kindergarten class all ski past our crash site without the slightest problem. Bloody kids!

Because of the overnight snow fall half of our group actually managed to get up in time for the first chairlift of the day. Weazle in particular managing to scramble into his ski gear in time, having been woken by us putting our boots on. By God the early morning was worth it though. With relatively few people on the mountain today we were almost the first down the first couple of runs. It's so cool looking back up the slope and being able to spot your own trail, even if some of them are a little less smoothly arcing than we would like. By lunchtime we'd already been skiing for 4 hours, so it was a quick bite to eat and then we went back out again to make the most of the powder on runs like “Ripsaw”. By about 2:30 though our legs were starting to feel the punishment that we'd been metering out on them all day. There was time for just one more blast down Little Brave, complete with Learner Skier obstacles, before home. What an amazing day.

It's snowed!! There's nothing quite like the feeling you get when boarding/skiing through falling snow. Sounds become muffled, the piste beneath you becomes a pure white blanket with no features and it gets bloody cold. It's a time when you have to trust your feet to do the right things and your knees to absorb the impact of that bump you didn't see. In extreme conditions you can believe that you're stationary as that pine tree glides silently past on it's way up the mountain.

It wasn't quite that thick a blizzard today but it was enough to stir our souls. As the snow continued to fall into the evening our minds and conversations turned to thoughts of fresh powder stashes, pistes devoid of any icy patches, FRESH POWDER!!!

Not to say that the slopes here are bad. For those of us used to the recent poor conditions in Europe, they're wonderful. But all things are relative and any extra snow here can only make a good situation better. Despite the cold, and by God it was cold when caught in a stiff gust of wind while on a chairlift, we had our longest day of skiing yet. It started off in the sun and finished with two tremendous, high octane dashes down “Little Brave” to our lodge at Arrowhead. Weazle and I both getting unintentional air off a roller halfway down the piste. At times it felt like a video game (partly due to the muffling of our senses by the falling snow) with beginner skiers appearing from the side of the run as impromptu obstacles.

Today was also the first day that we were joined by our Elktours' virgin Darren. The last few days he's been wrapped up in lessons. Today he was able to show us how far he'd progressed. He's either brave or possesses just the right amount of stupidity to not worry about how much it'll hurt if he falls (70% of any skiing/boarding ability is balls after all) because he has taken to boarding like a fish to water. His style still needs a bit of work, he can't continue to board like a string puppet but I'm sure he'll get there. Especially with the help of Rocket Reid's Boarding Master Class.

On Paul's recommendation we ventured out to Arrowhead Country Club for the evening and enjoyed a wonderful dinner amongst the Trophy Wives of Arrowhead. I'm not sure we fitted in but everyone else was kind enough to ignore this fact. The meal was fantastic, only marred by Mel's insistence on wearing a hat. A move that prompted some of us to sit on a different table. (You had to be there!)

All that's left is to get an early night and dream of those deep powder stashes to be found at the end of the first chair up of the morning!

Things returned to normal today after the Superheroes had left town. People skied slower and had less to talk about on the chairlifts. However, there was still much fun to be had, you just need to know where to look. As a group we were a bit fragmented today. Some of us taking a day of skiing/boarding altogether while others favoured a late start after the football had finished. James and I decided to explore the far side of the Beavercreek resort around the Rose Bowl lift. Being a Saturday and surprisingly warm the pistes were packed with weekend skiers from Colorado so it was a real challenge to find a bit of slope that wasn't already occupied. But for a short while this morning we had a couple of runs to ourselves. Ripsaw was especially good on our first run down.

We found some nice runs through the trees in this area, still with relatively fresh powder. To prove my theory about trees, James was pounced on by a malicious Pine at one point. Which wasn't just content to jump into his path but also decided to deposit the snowy content of it's branches all over him. Why do you never have a camera to hand when you need one!

We met the rest of our party for lunch on the terrace of the Beavercreek Chophouse, which was still in the sun. But by the time we'd finished eating, the clouds had gathered and the temperature dropped. So we all decided to head back to the lodge, having fun down Little Brave on the way.

With any luck the clouds will stay and leave some snow overnight. It's getting a little icy in places!

Tonight was the NFL playoffs on TV (American Football). I have to admit I've never really watched America's biggest sport before and still have no idea what the rules are. I'm also struggling to understand how they play for an hour but the game lasts a whole evening. And I used to think Cricket was silly! The thing is they were playing in temperatures of -24degF (-31degC) in shirt sleeves! I'm impressed!

Good night

On every Elktours holiday there is usually an Elktours Virgin. This person, or persons, are usually conscripted into the Way of The Elk whilst intoxicated and once hooked rarely escape. Doomed to go on holiday every year and have the time of their lives. This year is no exception and the Virgin du Jour is called Darren. Now, being the holiday Virgin isn't that bad a deal but can sometimes involve some level of gullibility. It was decided that we should give Darren the task of bringing something with him when he flies out on Wednesday, something that has no business being on a skiing holiday. We spent much of last night's dinner thinking of objects he could bring before we finally settled on a wallpaper stripper and some Polyfilla. So over breakfast this morning Phil texted him asking him to bring the aforementioned items and it wasn't long before he had a reply saying “OK, shall I bring a Stepladder as well?” Obviously he was suspicious of our ruse. Phil's next text was “We need it because Dave's broken his and keeps borrowing mine which takes too much time”. Maybe we'd over stretched ourselves, maybe the “Polyfilla” was one step too far, or maybe Darren would turn up at Gatwick armed with a gleaming scrapper with “Harris” embossed on the handle. Weazle suggested we should pop into Fraser to buy 14 Wallpaper scrappers to add to the ploy. Stay tuned for further developments!

Due partly to last night's late revellers and partly due to the sum of 3 days worth of exercise, we took our time over breakfast this morning before venturing out into the crisp mountain air. Again, at times, we felt like we had the resort to ourselves and felt aggrieved if some lonely skier ventured onto the same pristine piste as us. It was suggested that we make up some “Piste Closed- Private Party” signs to deter others from our favourite runs. We spend the morning going up and down a few runs called “Switchyard”, “Village Way” and “Hobo Alley”. In themselves they're nothing special just nicely pisted greens, however, there are many opportunities to follow little Rat-runs through the trees that pass the time with ease. Time flies when you're having fun and soon it's lunchtime and we meet Lisa on the Terrace of the Derailer. We order less this time than yesterday, already making allowances for the vast American portion sizes. On the table next to us a small kid tucks into a burger bigger than both his hands, which grip it so tightly the ketchup's being squeezed out.

Mel wins $10 when Paul complains “They should turn the music down here” after saying two days ago that Paul wouldn't like the noise.

Although it's warm at the bottom when we finish lunch, by the time we get the Zephyr chair lift back up to the top the wind has picked up and it is now icily cold. We don't need much convincing that we should call it a day and go back to the hot tub at the chalet but the chairlift stopping for a few minutes when we're tantalisingly close to getting off just about does it. With the exception of Paul we head back down and catch the bus home.

Our bus driver is a friendly black woman called Izella, or Bussie to her friends. Without any prompting she tells us her life story with a strong Southern drawl (She's from Jacksonville, Florida. Feels the cold and has come here to work but doesn't intend to board or ski) She makes light hearted banter and tells Lisa off when she asks Dave to shut up. Phil barely hides his irritation at this experience and keeps repeating the Liverpool scores in an effort to distance himself.

I get off the bus two stops early to look at snowboards in “Powder Tools”. I'm the only customer in there but unlike yesterday the assistant talks to me in English and doesn't call me “Dude” once. He's pretty helpful so I'm now the proud owner of a Burton Royale 58. The users manual tells me that this board is about to change my life! Apparently it is “completely Shred ready” but suggests that I should customize it. However, just putting some stickers on is fraught with potential social faux pas as a “tight sticker job can mean the difference between podium and Imodium”. Christ, I only wanted a bloody snowboard.

Anyway, I'm writing this still in my smelly board clothes and the others are down the bar spending the kitty so that's enough ramblings from me. Ciao!

Day 3 - Moon Flaps

What a difference a good night's sleep makes, I wake early but feeling ready for a great days skiing. Today is our chalet hosts' day off so at breakfast we have to fend for ourselves but yesterday afternoon's coffee and walnut cake does the job nicely. We're out the house in double quick time this morning and stand waiting for the ski bus in the sunshine. Today there isn't a cloud in the sky and we all begin to wonder if 4 clothing layers wasn't a little excessive. However, the first chair lift up vindicates our choices as the cold mountain air starts to find it's way through the cracks in our jackets. Mel's particularly draughty this morning after a slight malfunction on her ski trousers yesterday due to an over enthusiastic Pop Tart moment. Dave asked her how her flaps were and Mel said “Wide open”. We wondered if this caused her any problems skiing, her reply being that they weren't very aerodynamic. Don't worry we were still talking about her ski suit!

There's not a cloud in the sky as we get to the top of the lift and we marvel for a few minutes at the airborne ice crystals that seem to float before our eyes as if sprinkled there by the God of good skiing days. I try to take a photo of them but with little luck. Today is one of those sublime days when the air is clear, the snow wonderfully smooth and the views breathtaking and the first couple of hours just drift by in a daze of cruisy blues and tree line obstacle course action. Without the low lying cloud of yesterday we get a fantastic view of Winter Park Resort's situation in the Rockies. It drapes it's many pistes over a couple of peaks at the head of a large flat valley that disappears into the distance as a patchwork of snow fields and forests. It looks very different from the tightly packed and jagged peaks of the Alps that we know so well. The mountains in this part of the Rockies at least, are gradually slopping domes crowned by pristine white snow caps.

Although yesterday was never busy by European standards today is significantly less crowded and at times we have the pistes and woods to ourselves. Much opportunity is made of little ramps at the edge of the pistes, unfortunately the only thing worse than our attempts to catch big air are our photographic abilities to capture the events for posterity. A little later I make a further attempt to do the perfect “Hampton Caught” by catching my toe edge while facing down hill and I spend the next 10 seconds sliding on my front head first down the piste with my board waggling above me. I'm laughing so hard I can't focus on digging my hands in to break my fall but eventually an obliging clump of snow does the job for me.

The weather's too good today to not make the most of it so we stop for Elevenses at a mountain bar and sun ourselves for half an hour. A Hot Chocolate with a Peppermint Shnapps chaser each (known locally as a Snuggler) keep us warm as we sit in our deckchairs watching the occasional skier/boarder go by.

A quick blast back down the mountain gets us to the resort base in time to meet Lisa and Paul for Lunch. Paul's ski suit is a wonder to behold as he reclines in the full splendour of a one piece Canary Yellow romper-suit. That sort of thing is fine in a Swiss or Austrian resort where this sort of attire would be classed as cool and cutting edge by the local population, here, where the mountain is populated by plaid clad Quicksilver customers calling out “awesome” and “kick ass” as they do aerial 360s, he is unique.

A few of us are convinced (easily) by the waiter to indulge in a lunchtime Margarita, Tony has two and gets awarded the second nickname of the holiday. Although calling out “Marjorie” through the trees later in the afternoon is left without a response.

Well oiled and lubricated by Margarita and Coors Lite the afternoon offers more of the same tree runs and empty cruising pistes. We just make the last Panoramic Express chair before it closes en route to having fun through Willett's Way, a beautiful run through the trees that starts with a photo op for Weazle under the piste sign.

I can't believe it, I stay up 24hours and all I can manage before my body clock decides to wake me up is four measly hours. I just want to sleep!! I spend the next 3 hours in a vain attempt to get my head to shutup and leave me in peace, but at 7am I finally accept defeat and have a shower. Seems like everyone has had a similar sleep experience except Mel who managed to sleep through Dave setting off the alarm repeatedly by her ear.

The good news is that Breakfast is every bit as delicious as dinner was the night before and we all eat more than we should, using supporting phrases like “we'll be glad of the extra carbs later.” So much for losing weight this holiday. During breakfast we find out that Mel keeps popping the poppers open on her ski pants and so she's christened “Pop Tart” or “Cinnamon” to her friends, as we tuck into our waffles and maple syrup.

There is much pfaffing and unpacking of ski gear before we all manage to coordinate ourselves enough to congregate for the morning briefing from our Chalet Hosts. Unfortunately our hopes of catching the first chairlift of the day evaporate completely as Paul starts a conversation about Power Stations in the East Midlands. Finally we bring the meeting to order and find that we only need to pay for our lift passes and then we can go. Boarders and skiiers alike do the final bits of fettling on their skis and boards and then we're stood on the side of the road waiting for the ski bus. The morning is crisp and clear and the mood good as we wait for the rebadged 1960's school bus to pick us up.

The cold is what makes it so great over here. The consistent sub zero temperatures keep the snow light and soft. When the first run of the morning has warmed our leg muscles sufficiently we start to look for little clumps of fresh powder and inviting paths into the trees off the side of the pistes. This is what it's all about! And we spend the next two hours in snow heaven being guided around parts of the resort by our host, Rob. It's decided that we'll stop for lunch at “The Chilli Hut” at the top of one of the chair lifts. But as we get there we realise there's still time for one more blast. I'm persuaded to join Rob, Dave and Phil in going off-piste on a long run through the trees. The others decide they'd much prefer the pisted option and an earlier pitstop. So the four off us set off down this narrow path signposted innocently enough as “Stagecoach Trees”. It starts off relatively gently but quickly becomes an undefined free-for-all through the pines with each of us picking a different line, with varied results. Here's where we start to see for the first time the effect a poor start to the season has had. There is very little compacted snow base and so at times we drop two feet through the powder catching the rocks beneath. Given another couple of feet of compacted snow this would be great. It's still fun and I realise my off-piste technique needs a bit of work, but the numerous times I have to dig my board out of the snow does much to alleviate the cold nip in my fingers. The great thing about this sort of skiing is that the only thing you can hear is the hiss your board/skis make through the soft powder and the “Waaaah-huuuuuus” as one of us manages a Dog's Bollocks Recovery around a tree branch or over a rock. Don't let anyone ever tell you that trees are rooted to the spot, those bastards move I tell you!

After a cold chairlift ride back up to our lunch stop we tuck into a filling portion of Chilli and feel the warmth spreading back into our finger tips.

The afternoon brings more of the same, but with the added bonus that all of us engage in a little less demanding tree dodging than our morning run. We've been left to our own devices by our host now, but the snow conditions are still good enough that every run brings a smile to our faces.

Towards the end of the afternoon we're treated to a burst of sunshine that luckily coincides with a communication breakdown within the team when half of us end up at a different chair lift than the rest. But the sun warms us as we wait for the others to get to where we are. At this point Mel offers to go to the bar and get the beers in while we take a final chair up and fit a couple more runs in before, tired and exhilarated, we meet her at the Dérailleur Bar.

She's sitting there with six pints of beer in front of her and seems relieved that we hadn't just got the ski bus back and left her to finish them all off. It's so cold that ice crystals are forming on the top of the beer as we're drinking it. Tony starts a conversation by saying that Warm Beer cools down quicker than cold Beer. Unfortunately there are 3 engineers round the table so this causes much debate and piss-taking.

We're in a debating vein this evening because the after dinner conversation plumbs the heights, and depths, of popular culture, the merits of having a Mii (look it up on the internet, apparently everyone over the age of 30 should have one!) whether the BBC should get rid of the licence fee etc. Paul reveals that he is only vaguely aware that a games console called a Wii actually exists, which amazes many of us. Tony's jaw drops to the floor when Paul states that BBC Radio 4 is the finest radio station in the world. It would be hard to explain how such a disparate group of people could ever be friends but somehow it works so maybe we shouldn't analyse it too deeply.

The evening's entertainment is rounded off, bizarrely enough by a trawl through select vids on You Tube. Highlights include “Billy Connelly's Bullshit Tour of the Manx TT” and “Body Sking” (That's how it's spelt).

The jetlag finally catches up with us and we're all in bed by 10pm.

The prospect of yet another early morning wake-up call becomes a bleary eyed reality when the alarm kicks into life at 6:15. The shower does little to wash away the cobwebs or wake me up and the brief time between getting dressed and saying good bye to Laure at Chez Willett seems to go too quickly. But soon we are on our way to Gatwick and the adventure has begun.

For once the M25 seems less a radial car park and more the rapid transport system it was originally designed to be. So it isn't long before the three of us are at Gatwick, our luggage checked in (with the customary issues, this time over the number of bags allowed per person) and progress updates received from our fellow adventurers. The hour has yet to reach double figures when the seven of us are sat in the departure lounge bar. We slip on well worn holiday habits like old winter coats; the early morning pint of beer, Paddy Ashdown (or at least his identical twin brother) “spotted” at the bar, and the jokes at Tony's expense (thank God he's here otherwise it would be me as the target). I briefly wish I hadn't missed the last four years of these trips.

Somewhere over Greenland

Possibly the worst situation in the world is to be sat on a plane for 9 hours. When you add in the factor that your neighbour is attempting the World Record for most Bacardi drunk in a single 4 hour period, your thoughts naturally turn to violence. I wonder why there aren't more “Air-rage” cases. I spend the next few hours gradually inhaling second hand alcohol fumes while listening to Mel and Phil having a Duel to decide who gets to sit in the window seat. The flight is half over before there is finally a victor (The result delayed by Phil's vain attempts to bend the rules to his advantage) and Mel retains her seat. I never sleep well on planes and often risk Whiplash injuries by doing a nodding dog routine, inhabiting a place somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. The dream I'm having, involving a white yacht and crystal blue sea is shattered by a freezing cold sensation in my lap as Tony knocks his drink over me. Luckily it's water but I'm irritated now and force him to swap seats so I'm not sat in the puddle. His attention span wandering like a serial drinker on his way back from the bar, he takes a fancy to one of the Hostesses, the less scary one, and through a cloud of drunken slurring and Bacardi fumes he makes conversation with her each time she passes. Strangely she copes quite well when he asks “What is girl like you doing in a place like this” and goes so far as to randomly supply a packet of pretzels to him at the end of the flight, a gesture that may have included an exchange of phone numbers. It must have been the British accent!

The Twin Cities

I get two completely different experiences from the first two Americans I meet. The first a customs official who stops me in the corridor after I leave the plane. His manner is similar to that of a traffic cop who has just caught me speeding at 120 in a 30 zone past a school. He asks where I'm staying in the States and what I do for a living leaving me wondering why my occupation is relevant. Maybe I should have said something other than 'Engineer', perhaps “Elvis Impersonator” or “Lion Tamer”.

We queue for what seems like an eternity with no movement at the customs desk, but then suddenly I'm there. Handing my passport over to a crewcut woman with a hip holstered gun the size of the State of Nebraska. But she's pleasant and asks if I “ski or Board” and I begin to warm to my new environs. It's not my first time in the New World and I'm hit again by the feeling that it is “The same, but different”. The full page add in the inflight magazine pledging you too can fight the signs of ageing. The ad includes a full length photo of the 67 year old founding Doctor of the company. His white hair and wire rimmed glasses at odds with his toned and muscular physique, more at home on a 25 year old body builder than a man born during the last World War. Further random flickings through the glossy pages gives me the impression that everything here is Trade Marked^TM

Chasing the Sun

As we take off on our flight to Denver the Sun we have been chasing all day finally finds a last burst of energy and gives us the slip. High tailing it over the horizon and the sky slowly changes from Blue to orange, to Indigo as the Land of the Free grows dark below us.

The concept that is impossible to grasp even at 30,000ft is the shear size of America. We pass over mile upon mile of semi-wilderness and farmland. Each “Homestead” occupying it's own geometrically defined state that sets me thinking about the harsh realities of the mid-west winter that the early settlers must have had to endure 5 lifetimes ago. What would they think of a world were Gore-Tex and Thermalite exist enabling people to strap planks of wood to their feet before pointing them straight down a snow coated mountain rather than wrapping themselves in Wolf furs and bolting their doors against both of those unwanted visitors, Bitter Cold and Chill Wind.

You can always rely on the most pissed person in any situation to provide the entertainment and sure enough Tony came through for us on the second flight. Not being content to get the phone number from the lovely Yanick on our first leg. He received the attentions of yet another employee of the skys when the oh so camp Jeremy gave him his email address (dancelikeuluvme@gmail.com!) That one's going to just run and run...

4x4 Ballet

The cold at Denver hits you like a knife as we leave the Terminal building. Our excitement building exponentially with the drop in temperature as the layers of fatigue start to cloak our senses. Everything works like clockwork, the bus to the Car rental desk, the clerk who jokes pleasantly to us while filling out our paperwork. All of them help to make us feel welcome.

We've either rented a Jeep or a supertanker, it's quite hard to tell which as both would wallow and roll in corners and take decades to accelerate. But soon the hum of rubber on tarmac and the hours of fatigue gradually lull us into comfort, the occasional flare of Dave and the gangs tail lights being the only interruptions in our sonambulatory driving.

As we start to ascend through the mountains we're welcomed by light snow flurries and a steadily increasing thickness of snow on the road. If we had this much at home the whole country would grind to a halt but here we're tailgated by yellow jeeps at 40mph whilst trying to see through the snow thrown up by the car in front. At one point I'm a bit over zealous with the brakes and do a very uneligant slide towards the snow piled up on the side of the road. But gradually the tyres dig back in and we complete the turn.

Winter Park

When we finally arrive the resort gradually shows itself through the snow. It's lights welcoming us to our home for the next 4 days. Our chalet is beautiful and our hosts help us settle in instantly.

Our last member, Paul, arrives by bus just before 11pm and he and I share a glass of wine before finally giving in to the jetlag and fatigue. For the first time since my twenties I've managed to stay up for more than 24hrs in one go. I go to bed feeling warm and excited about tomorrows boarding.