The End

So I’m sat here on the Saint Bernard Express on my way to Geneva surrounded by what I can only assume are the Swiss equivalent of a UK chav, and I’m reflecting on the last 8 weeks.
8 weeks ago I finished my job, and set off with a loose plan to do a few of the more dangerous winter sports. Over that period I’ve done the Cresta Run, Bobsleigh, just missed out on ski jumping, driven at 150mph, learnt to Speed Ride, and beyond my wildest dreams, I’ve ended up as a member of the British Speed Skiing Team and competed at an international level. None of this was planned, and I’ve definitely blagged more than a little of this, but this is where I am. And it feels good.

The Speed Skiers especially have been brilliant. From probably 15 different nations, but all very friendly and all definitely unhinged. From the 66 year old Norwegian, Sverre who had a crash yesterday at 70+ mph and walked away, to Jonathan an S1 podium finisher, who I caught earlier at the bar necking vodka and red bulls. Between races.

Then there’s Tom one of the UK team who is one of only 8 people ever to pass 200 kph on downhill skis designed for half that speed, has been on the piss every night this week, usually races still hammered and once spent several hours in a coma after a crash in a downhill mountain bike race.

So what next? Well even with my f*ck up in the Speed Skiing, Marc wants me to come back next year. The Swedish coach has asked if I would like to join them for training in December in Sweden which is also very cool. Millar, the British Coach has suggested I start from lower heights and work on technique rather than just jump in at 100mph, which can only be a good thing!

And now I'm back in the UK completely intact. And wondering what to do next...

100mph, Richard Branson and bad news

Today has been a funny day. Massive highs, and massive lows, so let me start at the beginning….

We made the usual 60 minute, 3 lift trek up to the track and got our start numbers. I’m always right in the middle, as the racers with World Cup points go first, then those with just FIS points (us) in order of the least experience. I.e. me first every time. I also found out that contrary to what I was told last night, I would indeed get some FIS points for yesterday’s race. The day was looking up after all…

I was running a little late, and had to rush onto the lift to get to the start. As I was waiting an instantly recognisable haircut stepped into the small cable car and my jaw dropped. It was Richard Branson. One of my ambitions has always been to meet the man in person, so I sidled as close as I could without raising attention and flashed the union jack on my race suit. He was chatting away happily to his daughter and didn’t notice. I coughed slightly and edged my leg a little closer in what was fast becoming a “lunge”. Still nothing. In a final attempt I tweaked the lunge by rocking forwards and backwards gently in manner that would get you arrested outside a primary school, and then managed to drop a pole. “So are you competing then?” asked a random bloke behind me, engaging me in a conversation 180 degrees from the direction I wanted to be facing. Bugger.

At the top of the lift I decided I would turn up the level of the “stalk” one notch. I followed him down the stairs and barged a random cheese eating surrender monkey out the way so I could put on my skis next to him, obviously with yet another “tweaked lunge”. Still nothing. Is this man made of ice? Does he need glasses?

Skis on, I followed him down the narrow entry to the slope, and as he stopped on the edge, I eventually grabbed my chance: “Sir Richard, wish us luck!” I said. What I think he said was: “Good luck Benja, I’ve always been a great fan and fully support your noble, yet ill planned and dangerous entry into the British Ski Team”. Although, as it was a bit of a grunt I couldn’t make out all the words, and it might have just been “Sod off and leave me alone you spandex wearing weirdo”.

Even though I was late, there was the inevitable waiting as competitor after competitor went down. I was trying to remember what Marc and Banger, the Swedish coach (who has been very helpful as the British coach is recovering from an operation in the UK) had said about my tuck. “Flatten your back”. “Weight off your heels”. Right, got that. And there was the same feeling of unconstrained adrenaline coursing into my veins, and sweat on my palms as I inched closer to the front. We were starting from the same height as yesterdays final run before heading another 20 yards up the hill for the second of the day, and although I had been from this height before, it didn’t make it any less terrifying.

“Quand tu veux” went the starter. Right, off I go. Shit caught an edge. Hang on…snowplough, straighten skis and go. I’d already lost 30 yards of the course from a simple f*ck-up. OK, into the tuck. Here we go accelerating just like yesterday…shit…what did Banger say…my weight is too far back…get forward….OK…that’s better…back flat…and go….

My skis felt very stable beneath me, and I was doing good speed. Poles a little close to my face maybe, but OK. Seems good. And hold for the timing run…..over the red line, then the green and up into the airstream….and relax. Yesterday from the same height in the same conditions I managed 157.27 kph. I closed in on the scoreboard at the bottom and couldn’t believe it. 161.73 kph. That’s it! Anything over 161 is 100mph. The speed I’ve always wanted to hit. At last, I’ve done it…

Marc was at the bottom with a grin. “Is that good?” I asked. “That’s pretty quick” he said. (To give an idea of the field – the fastest on Tues was 165.42, and the fastest today 165.70 so the track hadn’t got much faster, apparently Banger and Marc’s advice had made all the difference)

I was ecstatic about it. As I skied to the lift back to the competitor’s area, I was like a 5 year old child, shouting and waving my poles everywhere. I’d done it. When I got there, I headed up to the results board to check I hadn’t just seen the previous competitors result. Nope, there it was bright as day. And I looked down the list of guys after me…160, 155, 159, 160, 160, 154…hang on. Yesterday as the only rookie I was 20th out of 21, and today after one run I was up to 15th. In a bloody World Cup race. Shit the bed. I’m a rock star!

Banger came over, congratulated me, then gave me some tips (he watches every racer through binoculars), and showed me a much better tuck position for the next run. I was fired up. Here we go…Ipod on with a suitable soundtrack, back on the lift and back to the start. This time I was ready to give it some bells. At the final start line we are always called forward by Alison, an American who was the first woman through 200 kph 25 years ago. I was just considering some pithy line to give her as she called my name. “Benja?”. “Yup…” I replied, with a comedy classic about to roll off my tongue. “You’re TD’d – sorry they didn’t tell you?”

At every FIS race there is a Technical Director who decides start times, start order, checks back protectors, safety gear and other admin. Another of his roles is to check technique, and give a warning to anyone he thinks aren’t in control. After that warning you are then expected to put right whatever fault you have demonstrated, otherwise he won’t let you start from any higher on the slope (and as every run is from slightly higher for a faster speed is essentially a retirement). This was the one possible flaw in my entry into a speed skiing competition. Essentially the last ski lesson I had was when I was 8 years old, I’d never had any speed skiing training, and Marc’s advice for my first run was “go with what’s natural, and we’ll make changes to your tuck as we go”. I knew I was “winging it”, and there was always a danger I might get caught out as a rookie on technique. Everyone else builds up their speeds in training more gently…100 kph, 105kph, 110kph and so on. Due to various constraints, I’d just had to “wing it” from about my previous fastest of about 110 / 120 kph straight up to 155/160 in one step.

I knew there was no chance in arguing, and with my tail between my legs skied down the black mogul slope on my race skis (a challenge in itself) and back to the competitor’s area. I felt gutted. I felt I’d let down Marc, Tom, Banger and Millar Reid (the British Coach back in the UK who took a gamble on me competing in the first place having never seen me ski). I’d f*cked it, and worst of all didn’t know what I’d done wrong as Alison couldn’t tell me.

“What did you do?” Marc asked. “No f*cking idea” I replied. Marc went off to find the FIS judge and get an explanation. He called me over and translated the reason “too much weight on my heels – can be dangerous”, and then started arguing the point for me. “But he’s very fast and stable” was his first repost. “It doesn’t matter…it is a dangerous position” the reply. “But he should have a first warning and he can put it right…” A shrug of the shoulders was the answer to that. Marc fought my case as strongly as he could (and he holds a lot of weight in the speed skiing scene), but to no avail. “I do not disqualify him” said the judge “I just do not let him go from any higher up the hill”. So retirement then. Banger and Marc had spotted my flaw on the first day, I had only remembered half way down the slope to correct it, but by that point the FIS guy must have already seen me and made his decision. (I wasn’t alone though – a total of 5 were cut / didn’t make the comp)

So that’s it. My speed stands, I will get FIS points, I am not disqualified, but even for the run I didn’t get to do, all my competitors used the extra height and went faster. And there is another day of competition still to go. So I’m last. Which sucks.

So there you go. As a day, it’s one I’ll remember. On the upside, I broke the 100mph barrier, represented Britain for skiing, beat experienced speed skiers in a World Cup race, met Richard Branson (all be it briefly), I don’t have to spend 2 hours waxing my skis tonight and can get absolutely shitfaced. On the downside, I was improving every run (and getting personal best’s every time – based on the other guy’s 2nd run I could have been in the 167kph / 103 mph area already, with even more tomorrow), and I had just missed out on a rags to riches opportunity of a lifetime – all I wanted to do was not come last, and I had been sitting 15th out of 21!

I sat there, on my own, revelling in my misery on the lift down, until I had a bit of an epiphany. This was always going to be a long shot. I had one pair of second hand skis to race on, most other guys are sponsored, have several pairs for different conditions (one guy has 11 at this comp alone). I had learnt to wax and tune a ski for speed for the first time 2 days ago, had never had any ski race training whatsoever, let alone speed skiing and was truly “winging it”. Being realistic, I probably had more bravery than was than strictly sensible, and not enough skill to match it. Or as my dad would describe it “more balls than brains”. I alwways wanted to do this, and it was the chance of a lifetime, but I am realistic and there was always the chance that this could go horribly wrong at some point (no doubt at over 100mph), and it didn’t. For that I should be grateful. So I’m not pissed off. I’ll be gutted when I look up the hill tomorrow and see the rest of the guys do their stuff. But I’ll probably have a terrible hangover to go with it….

Benja

Photo below is the results - I was drawn number 58. 45-66 (in the red box) are in my class - Men's Downhill.

No FIS points after all...

Just heard that due to weather meaning some of the S1 guys couldn't do a final run, that none of us are going to get any FIS (world ranking) points. Gutted. However I may still be able to get some in the race over the next couple of days...lets see...

Just to clarify the difference in speed skiing disciplines, I thought I would give a quick explanation. There are 2 classes, and I've entered the downhill class as it needs less kit. All three Team GBR racers are in the Downhill class, as we have no representatives in S1 at the moment (Marc moved from S1 a couple of years ago):

S1 Speed Skiing

Ideal for deviants and Star Wars fans. Essentially you wear full (non porous) rubber suits, use 240cm long skis with no sidecut and lots of width, special aerodynamic calf fairings (which look very impressive, but are all home-made) and Darth Vader helmets. They are faster (maybe 5-10%) in our races, break the world records, are designed to travel at 150mph but involve a lot more hassle getting ready and apparently talcum powder as well.

Downhill Speed Skiing

This is the class I'm racing. Slighty slower as we are limited to standard downhill helmets, standard, narrower downhill skis (215cm) and standard downhill suits. Our speeds are slightly lower, but our kit is designed for going at 70mph round corners, rather than 100 mph in a straight line. This means the skis are a little more "frisky" at pace.

Fear verses Stupidity

So the weather looked OK today. We headed up for the start, I squeezed into my race suit and jumped on the lift.

Arguably the hardest thing about the course is the entry - a 300m traverse across a black mogul field on non-race skis (mine only have 3 edges left as I haven't got round to getting a new pair yet) carrying all your kit and race skis (which weigh about 15kg alone). You then have to perch on a pretty much 45 degree slope, swap skis, remove kit and then strap it all together for the sherpas to take it down to the bottom. Then there's the 40m queuing on a 40cm wide ledge, before the final launch down the slope.

Competitors started going down and I edged towards the front. 120 went, then 121. I was 125. I could feel my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. 122. My gloves are drenched with the sweat pouring off my hands and I'm worried that I'll steam up my googles from the vapour evaporating from my face. 123. This is where I got to yesterday before being cancelled. Surely not again. I wonder if there are any get out clauses left? Fake a heart attack? - not believable enough. I left the washing machine on? - unlikely as it's 800 km away. 124. Right, now or never. I take a big look down the slope that stretches steeply down almost a km down to my left. 124 is accelerating down and away and I have to lever myself into the starting position. I know that in less than 30 seconds I will be passing through the finish like it or not. Man or mouse? Time to find out.

"Quand tu veux" the starter says. And suddenly this calm decends. When I was skydiving, I hated the seconds before the jump, but as soon as I was out of the plane I was literally on cloud 9 and everything seemed very right and chilled.

I twisted the skis through 90 degrees and pointed them down the slope. And suddenly everything was clear. I tucked up, felt the speed build beneath the P-Tex below and concentrated on making as aerodynamic shape as possible. I'm told you hit 60mph in about 3 seconds and feeling the rate I'm gaining speed I can well believe it. I see a small rut ahead, brace myself for the impact and continue on. Although its a terrible cliche, I really feel very alive. My senses are so focused on everything round me I'm feeling tiny imperfections in the snow I'd never normally notice. I'm definitely going faster than ever before, and the wind is roaring through the helmet. I can see the first red line ahead signifying the beginning of the timing area. I fly across it. Then the second. Through that too. 50 yards further on is the green line which means I can start to stand up and decelerate.

The trick is to do it gently I'm told, because if I suddenly stand up from a tuck there's a chance I'll backflip out of my skis. Arms out first, slowly raise my head and feel the wind slowing me. Try a gentle turn, but realise I'm still going faster than the national speed limit, so a big snowplough might be safer. Gently down to the exit gate and onto the drag lift back to the competitors area.

15 seconds. That was it. So much preparation, nerves, waxing, waiting and general faffing and it was all over in 15 seconds. But what a 15 seconds.

151.79 kph. Or about 94 mph in old money. A quick check of the scoreboard shows I'm not even last! A way off the leaders (6 kph), but not last and I've been told I'm the only rookie here - everyone has competed before. Marc comes up to me and gives me the ultimate compliment - "not bad" he says.

Second run was from slightly higher, and I clocked 157.27kph / 97.7mph. Just 2.3mph short of my target! It also felt more like 70% survival / 30% speed, whereas the first was definitely 95% survival.

For the other Brits, Marc Poncin won the Downhill category I'm in, and Tom Horn was sadly disqualified for going down without his back protector on.

So that's it for the first World Cup comp - due to weather it's just 2 runs, but it means I have done my first ever speed ski run, achieved FIS (World Skiing Federation) points, represented Great Britain for skiing, didn't make a tit out of myself, didn't come last, almost cracked 100mph. And tomorrow we start again for the second 2-day competition, weather permitting from even higher, so tomorrow could be the 100mph day...

Still going at 66...

I've just returned from the opening ceremony (notable only for it's free wine) and racer's dinner (notable only for its free wine) and thought I would add another updated.

The most impressive person I've met so far is not the world record holder, Simone Origone (251.4 km/h / 156 mph), not the random Scandinavian I've heard about who managed to put ina pretty reasonable performance in a brothel a couple of years ago (even though he so drunk he apparently couldn't speak), but a Norweigen chap who as far as I can tell is the only member of the Norweigen team. He is also 66 years old, and a member of the 200 kph club. And a jolly nice bloke. I asked him tonight when he thought he might retire. "Every year I think about it" he said "but not so far".

The only other thing to add is how much of a mind game this is. I got so close today to getting my first run done but not quite. That's been playing on my mind a little, especially during another 2 hours preparing and waxing my skis this afternoon. Part of me says just to go for a looser tuck, but slightly less aerodynamic and slightly safer for my first run. But I could be penalised for that and I'm only going to get a maximum of 6 more runs in this week. At 15 seconds each. So essentially I've travelled almost 1000km each way for 90 seconds of skiing. And if I bottle it, I'll beat myself up about it for ever.

So on reflection, I think there's only one way to play this..."balls out" from the start. And just hope I'm up to it...

Speed Skiing World Cup Day 1

With a raging hangover I made it to Heathrow with lots of ski gear and hopped on a flight to Geneva. Something I was told the night before at Fanner’s wedding by a professional skier was still going round my head; “Speed Skiers don’t break bones, they shatter them”. I’ll bear that in mind then.

On arrival in Verbier I met Marc Poncin, the GBR team captain. He’s currently in second place in the world cup standings, having won it last year. He’s very good. The second member of the team is Tom Horn, one of the few people ever to break the 200 km/h barrier on normal downhill skis. He’s also very good. The third team member is a bloke going to break his own personal speed record by a good 25% in training, let alone the proper race. He has a pair of downhill skis bought on eBay, has second hand poles & catsuit and has never competed in any speed skiing competition before, let alone the World Cup. That’ll be me then.

Marc chastised me early on the state of my skis – rusty, damaged and with no wax. I had no ski preparation equipment as I hadn’t really planned very far ahead. I now know that Speed Skiers spend 2+ hours a day preparing their skis for 30 seconds of racing. Some quick negotiations and I had bought wax / borrowed other kit and was getting a very basic lesson in waxing and edging from Marc. I have to admit that slow skis would have suited me absolutely fine, but he was adamant I needed to go as fast as possible...

I don’t mind admitting I didn’t sleep so well last night. Until I arrived last night I was fairly nonchalant about the Speed Skiing World Cup, but as I drove up the hill, it all became a lot more real. I guess the lack of sleep was a blend of excitement, anticipation and nervousness. Apparently there was a slower PoP KL race on Saturday and Sunday which would have been a nice 130 - 150 km/h intro, but I was otherwise disposed at the wedding, so I’m jumping in at the deep end at 160 km/h. Yes, that’s 100mph.

I woke up after a couple hours of decent kip and grabbed my kit. A bit of a trek to the course, but when we arrived the weather was good and we headed up for an 11.30 start. Getting to the start is hard enough as you have to ski normal skis carrying your race skis over your shoulder. To make it worse, you have to do this across the top of a very steep black mogul field. Not a good place to fall.

Strip down to lycra speed suit and time to get the big skis on. I was drawn fairly high up the start list in about 25 place, but it was taking an age to get people down the course as cloud was starting to cover the course, dangerously reducing visability. To add to this, the temperature was dropping and although I was freezing, my adrenaline was really pumping and I was ready to point down the hill. We slowly edged to the start and as number 23 wet down, two people in front of me, the visibility gave out completely.

"Racing cancelled today" came the voice over the radio. Shit.

Tomorrow, here I come...wonder how I'll sleep tonight?

It's not quite over yet....

So yesterday I braved the M4 on my Vespa to get to a proper FIS regulated ski helmet. Why? Well, as a result of some contacts I made abroad, some very short notice planning / cashing in of air miles / combling together kit and general helpfulness from Snowsport UK, I am now entered for the Verbier XSpeed competition on Monday morning. While most people in the UK will be getting up for work, I'm going to be dressed in lycra, looking a lot like a Power-Ranger, pointing my 215cm downhill skis straight down a very steep slope and trying to retain sphinctoral control.

The event in Verbier, Switzerland (http://www.xspeedski.net/2009/index_E.php) is the FIS World Cup final event for Speed Skiers, and should be a chance to hit 100mph+ at last.

I should admit though, I've never actually competed in any speed skiing event before, let alone representing Great Britain. I reckon it could be interesting....

Val d'Isere

Not a lot to add for Val d'Isere. It really was a week off dangerous sports and onto a week of dangerous drinking. The high point had to be Radio Will Interviewing Boris the Badger on Radio Val d'Isere...take a look...

St Moritz Olympic Bobsleigh Run

This is very much out of order, but in st Moritz, Danger and I had a go down the Olympic Bobsleigh Course in a 4-man bob with a professional driver.

Without doubt the most expensive thing I have ever done on a per second basis, at about £2 a second. But awesome and worth it. Here's the video:

Speed Skiing

Only a fool would go speed skiing with a raging hangover after 5 hours of boozy sleep and on the point of vomiting. Only a complete idiot would do it on a pair of super-stiff race skis he’d never before used. And only a complete imbecile would do it on Friday 13th.

The hangover was thanks to a Genepy bender last night to celebrate Bruce’s birthday. I don’t remember going to bed, but I do remember briefly being the greatest pool player in the world, before doing shots after closing hours with the owner.

The skis are courtesy of eBay and an up and coming young skier called TJ Baldwin. He’s the current British U18 champion in all 6 events. He was ranked No14 in the world for age 18 in Downhill for 2008 and looks like a very bright prospect for British winter sports. I am now the proud owner of his factory downhill race skis from last year.

The “Flying Kilometre” hill in Les Arcs 2000 was created for the 1992 Winter Olympics. Speed Skiing was tried as a potential Olympic sport, but later dropped as it was considered “too dangerous”. Since then it’s been a mecca for speed junkies, throwing themselves down at speeds of up to 150mph until a tragic accident last year. Seeing as most of the KL (flying kilometre) hill is officially closed this year for safety improvements, Club des Sport ran a mini-KL at the bottom for punters which I thought would be a good start.

I dragged my carcass out onto the piste and went for a quick run to remind myself how 215 cm downhill skis felt. Pretty much un-skiable is the answer. They’re so stiff and heavy that until you’re doing 40-50mph they don’t really turn. Sod that, I thought – may as well just go and have a crack anyway.

I got off the lift, traversed to the course and tried to restrain the sudden urge to be sick on my skis. I was given some brief, unintelligible instruction in French which definitely included the words “Dangereux” and “Bof”, tried to remember the advice Kev Alderton had emailed me and pointed the skis downhill.

My ambition has always been to hit 100mph. It just seemed like a nice round number to aim for. As I accelerated down the slope, it became clear that I wasn’t going to get anywhere close to that kind of speed today. At the bottom they confirmed it. 99km/h - 61mph. Fast, but not that quick. And certainly slower than I’ve been before on skis. But a quick look down the list showed it wasn’t a bad time at all. In fact I couldn’t see anyone who had passed 100kmh, and there were several characters hanging about in skin-tight race suits with suspiciously new looking helmets.

My second run hit 101 km/h and my third nudged 102 km/h (63.4mph). Sadly there wasn’t much more to be had, and considering I was wearing a loose fleece, normal salopettes, a snowboarding helmet and a brutal hangover there just wasn’t any more speed to be had. By the end of the day after 60 or so punters I was 3rd best, with one chap late in the day managing 103.5 km/h. I can live with that.

However, off the back of this I have made some contacts and dates permitting, I have been invited out to a proper race on the world speed skiing circuit in Verbier in April, where 100+ mph will be well within my reach!

Speed Riding

...is brilliant. A proper sport for loons. I can't describe quite what it's like, so this probably explains it better...



That was my attempt. No see how the pros do it - this is "Going Home", by my instructor Arnaud. Epic.

Ski Jumping Update

I’m glad to say that Alan Jones, the British Master’s Team member who took a big crash and was helicoptered out in Ruhpolding has recovered with no major injuries, though his confidence has probably taken a big knock. Good news was that James Lambert came 5th on the big hill, jumping 76.5 and 75.5m and came 6th in the combined competition. Cracking result – who says Britain doesn’t have successful ski jumpers?

One thing that has been bothering me is the self-imposed target of the “big four”; Ski Jumping, Speed Skiing, Speed Riding and the Cresta Run. I’ve knocked off the Cresta Run, added in a Bobsleigh run as an extra, and I’m due to start Speed Riding tomorrow, but Ski Jumping fell by the wayside due to illness, and Speed Skiing is looking less and less likely to happen as I couldn’t find anyone to get in touch with to point me in the right direction. For the Speed Skiing, the last option was a 10 hour round trip to Vars in the Southern Alps on my own to try and find someone, but for all I know it might not even be open. And add to that, Calais just 9 hours away from here so that does seem like yet another excessive detour in a car that’s beginning to play up.

However, today is a good day and I think both the Jumping and Speed Skiing could be back on. James got in touch to say that they may be running a beginners course in Sweden in April for Ski Jumping, and I noticed a poster in Les Arcs yesterday to say that they are opening up the “flying km” for Amateurs on Thursday. This is a surprise as I was under the impression Speed Skiing was off the agenda in Les Arcs at the moment, after the tragic accident last year, but apparently I might

This does clash with the Speed Riding as it’s been put back 2 days for bad weather, but I’m sure I can sort something out. 100mph is now optimistic without a skin-tight cat-suit and downhill helmet, but I think 80 mph is just about do-able in normal ski gear with my downhill skis….Thursday, here I come….

Boris Goes Boozing

Obviously you have to question the sanity of someone who travels round the Alps with a stuffed badger called Boris, but the reception from everyone has been great. The guys in the chalet have even made him a place at the table, and he sits down for dinner every night. He has been off his food a little recently, but I think it’s probably it a bit rich for him. We did come back yesterday and a large slice of the cake was missing, so it’s best not to leave him unattended. I’m no great expert on badger diets, but mashed potato is apparently a favourite so we’re scouring the supermarkets to see if we can fatten him up a little.

Word of Boris’s fame was spreading fast through Les Arcs, and it only seemed fair to take him on a pub crawl. With the exception of two squeamish barmaids in the Whistler bar, everybody loved him. In one place we even got a free round of 10 drinks because he was parked on the bar.

The night was looking to be a large but controllable one until we hit the local club, where Nimesh, the 3rd person in our chalet, announced it was actually his 40th birthday that day and it went downhill from there. Not much more I can add to that, as the photos tell the truth better than I can…

And after many requests, “Boris the Badger” is now on Facebook…search for "Boris L'Badger"

Chamonix and Les Arcs 1800 / 2000

So things are looking up. Post Autobahn stupidity, I spent a night in Chamonix with Poochie, had a good day’s snow-blowing (not a euphemism for anything, just driving a snow blower) and caught up on stuff generally. I was also beginning to recover from the cold / man flu / gastro-enteritis that had been knocking me back.

Next step was to head to Geneva to pick up my long suffering better half Anna, for a weekend in Les Arcs 1800. Me disappearing across the Alps for a month without contact isn’t going to win me “boyfriend of the year”, and Anna has recently become hooked on snowboarding so it was an ideal solution for her to come out for a couple of days.

Anna put her foot down when I suggested keeping Boris in the room, as for some reason she finds him “a bit creepy” and says that I’m “f***ing weird” for having him along for the ride. Nobody’s perfect.

“Wifey” is a fast learner on the board, so a couple of days pootling around was great. It’s a golden rule that you never try and teach your “better half” anything, but with the exception of arguments on whether she should wear a helmet or not, it was a dream. Every time she fell over, I’d rush down to see if she was OK, and every time I was just greeted with a large pair of goggles and a big grin. She came on leaps and bounds, and really seemed to enjoy it. One of the best weekends I’ve had, and a real change from lying sick in a hotel room in Germany earlier in the week.

Too soon she had to head home for work, so I dropped her off at Geneva and shot back for the next stage of my journey, meeting Bruce in Les Arcs 2000 to and taking on “Speed Riding”.

150 on the Autobahn

Putting my disappointment on not ski jumping behind me (I did ask if they’d let me go off the smallest jump anyway on my normal skis, but after 2 helicopter rescues in a day they weren’t keen), I set off for Chamonix. A great friend, Poochie has a place there, and I needed a warm bed for the night and some time to recuperate.

Trouble is Chamonix was 700km, 4 countries and 7 hours away.

The German Autobahns (motorways) are unique in Europe in that they have no speed limit. The German police can arrest you for driving like a twat, but once you’ve got through the black and white de-restriction sign they can’t arrest you for going too fast. On the way down at night I’d touched 120 mph, and cruised at about 100 most of the way. However since I had missed out on the chance to risk my neck on a ski jump, I thought I’d have a crack at another milestone.

A few years ago I accidentally hit about 120 mph on the M25 when the accelerator on my old MG got stuck flat to the floor for the best part of a mile. However a the big target I’ve always wanted to reach was the magic 150 mph, and seeing as this was my last day in Germany and the weather was good, today might just be my lucky day.

And I’d need luck, because most Autobahns are 2 lane affairs like a dual-carriageway back in the UK with the same myopic truckers pulling out with no warning, unpredictable road surfaces and idiots in BMWs 3 inches from your bumper.

The Subaru was also making a grinding noise from it’s transmission when I turned a corner sharply, the brakes were whining, Torbs reckoned a wheel bearing was on the way out and the car generally wasn’t happy in first and second gears. Add to that 100kg + of loose ski equipment, and not to mention Boris the stuffed badger in the back unsecured meant I had to be a little careful.

I first topped up with petrol and checked the tyre pressures. My tyres are only technically speed rated to 149mph, and too much or too little pressure would just increase the risk of a blow out. And a blow out at anything above 100 and I’d probably be joined Boris in taxidermy heaven. (Just to note Mum – you do have my permission to donate all my organs and have me stuffed if the worst happens).

The next challenge was space. Autobahns are just as busy as a road back in the UK, and to go really fast safely you need a lot of space. Trying to go so fast with other people around is just irresponsible and selfish. If I was going to do this, it was just me I wanted to put at risk.

Mile after mile was filled with convoys of trucks, bends and people carriers at 65 in the fast lane. Then with only about 50km of Germany left, a straight, empty road opened up for a good mile and a half ahead and I pinned it.

I was already cruising at about 100, and as I floored the noisy pedal I could hear the turbos start to whistle and gulp down air. 120 went in a flash, then 130. As I nudged towards 140 the acceleration was starting to relent a little, but the car still felt very stable. 145 came up and I now put both hands on the wheel wrapping my thumbs round for the firmest grip possible, and felt a slightly cold shiver down my spine with the thought that if this was all to go wrong, some poor German coroner was going to look up the expression “being a dickhead” to explain to my family why I had to be scraped out of the tarmac.

150 came up on the speedo and the road was starting to feel very narrow indeed. That should be that you would think, but the reality is that most speedometers over-read slightly to take account of tyre sizes / whinging owners using it as a defence for speeding etc. The only way you can really accurately measure your speed is using a GPS, so I glanced across to the Sat Nav which was reading a slightly disappointing 230 km/hr (143mph). I vaguely remembered from somewhere that 242 was the big target, so that’s what I was going to aim for.

The rate of acceleration was slowing and I decided to straddle the white lines in the middle of the road to give me a little more margin for error. Slowly the GPS clicked up 235, 236, 237 and in the distance I spotted a truck in the slow lane. A whine had also developed from under the bonnet and I knew I was running out of space.

A gust of wind hit the road and the car shifted 2 foot sideways. “Shit” I said out loud. I could almost hear Boris panicking in the back. 239, 240. The car was definitely starting a little weave. Just 2 more km/h…. 241 came up and agonisingly slowly I glimpsed out the corner of my eye and saw 242. That’s it. 150mph. Done.

To give you a feeling of how fast 150 mph actually is, you’re travelling a kilometre every 15 seconds, or in old money, that’s a mile every 24 seconds. A quarter of a mile every 6 seconds. However when you're aiming a 6 foot wide projectile at a hole 10 foot wide it feels much, much faster.

Slamming on the brakes at this point could have made things a messy, so even though I was closing in on the truck ahead, I eased back on the accelerator and let wind resistance do it’s thing. Once the car had settled into deceleration, I squeezed on the brakes and started to scrub off speed.

To say I was nervous as I approached the truck is an understatement. My closing speed to him was equivalent to him pasking up in the slow lane to watch porn and eat pasties, or whatever truckers do, and I’d spanked past in the fast lane at 80+ miles an hour 3 feet away.

I passed him at an indicated 130 and slowed back down to a steady 100mph cruise. I also felt a bit deflated – one of my big life ambitions and I’d achieved it, but on my own with no-one to share the stupidity of it all with. I could have filmed it with the headcam, but the confusion of a bloke being found in a mangled car wearing ski googles would have caused wasn't worth it. But I did get something...

Then I had a bit of a cold sweat as I realised what could have happened if it had gone wrong. And there and then I decided for the sake of the engine, my safety and my underwear that I wasn’t going to try that again.

Ruhpolding – Ski Jumping – Tuesday 3rd March

After a day in bed I decided to get up however I felt. Being miserable on my own is still worse than being miserable in other people’s company, so I decided to head over to the ski jump competition to meet James and the rest of the team.

I’ve taken a 1000km detour to do this leg of the trip and seeing as I’m not actually going to get to jump myself anymore, I may as well go and see some people jump. The competition has different age ranges, and I was encouraged to also see that some of the “Masters” were more senior than others – there were a couple of chaps who looked well into their 70s. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen ski jumping live and it is an amazing spectacle. The thing you notice is the whistling noise as the jumpers come over the hill and then the “thwack” as their skis land hard on the snow. It’s incredibly gracefully and elegant seeing them glide down the hill, and fairly comedy when you see many of them try and come to a stop again doing a massive snow plough on two and a half metre long skis. One chap in particular looked excellent at the jumping side, but a little lacking in the requisite “stopping” skills. Every time he landed he ended up in a heap next to the spectators chuckling away to himself.


Ski Jumping is generally thought of as a fairly dangerous sport, but in fact has a very good safety record. However within 5 minutes of arriving a competitor on the small (40m) hill wiped out, and required an air ambulance to get him out. They took a good half an hour to move him, and as he was stretchered past it became apparent that he took most of the impact on his face – he was not in a good way.

After the restart I found James and he introduced me to the rest of the team – Jason, Alex and Alun. As he was wearing his organisers hat, and not jumping today, he took me up the hill to get a better view of the comp. As we walked up the hill one of the old fellas obviously didn’t spot another competitor coming down the ramp and took off down the hill from half way. The guy on the hill had nowhere to go as he was already in motion and took off the ramp, landing 20 feet from us on top of the older fella who was meandering his way down.

It looked like someone should have “bought the farm”, but there was an embarrassed silence as both competitors picked themselves up and walked down the hill. The impact was big enough to snap at least one of the ski jump skis, but both miraculously walked away unharmed.

“Are there a lot of accidents?” I asked. “This is unusual” said James.

10 minutes later we’re positioned at the take off point and James is marshalling the jumpers to ensure there’s only one on the slope at a time. Alun, one of the British team is lined up for his first jump. As he takes off, his balance looks all wrong, too far forward. He disappears over the crest of the landing hill and I hear some gasps from down below. It doesn’t look good – he went over the front of his skis and landed face first on the slope. Alun is moving, but not much. James heads down to help out, it’s announced that the helicopter is coming in for the second time today and the rest of the day’s jumping is cancelled.

I decide that James probably had enough on his mind without me hanging round asking stupid questions, so made my exit hopefully meeting up with them later today.

Ruhpolding – Ski Jumping – Monday 2nd March

I’m in a dark place. After dropping Torbs off at Zurich airport yesterday I faced a 4 hour drive into Eastern Germany to Ruhpolding to the Masters Ski Jump Championship. What initially looked like a brutal (and well deserved) hangover has metamorphosed into something very much more flu-like. I haven’t been able to keep any food down for almost 36 hours now and getting weaker by the minute.

I originally came here to meet James Lambert, the captain of the British Masters Ski Team, and head further east to learn to ski jump. However that’s looking more and more unlikely as I’m barely able to leave my hotel room at the moment. On reflection I also have a 700 km drive to Geneva by Thursday evening, and at the moment I’m struggling to stand up.

I’m hoping this will be my darkest moment, as there are few places I would rather not be than holed up on my own in a foreboding hotel room, shivering, coughing my guts up, unable to sleep and generally regretting this leg of my trip. Dark times indeed.

The rest of St Moritz

I guess Torbs and I did what we came to do – take on the Cresta Run. After 7 rides I wanted more, but that competitive streak had kicked in and at some point I could have come a cropper. Torbs also left as a member of the Shuttlecock Club with the tie, which I am very jealous of.

Highlights for us had to be the Pioda (hot stone where you cook your own meat) where you could select any animal that took your choosing. We tried Zebra, Ostrich, Kangeroo and Moose to name a few.

We did a bobsleigh run which was phenomenal. We were only passengers in the middle of the bob with a driver and brakeman, but the feeling of pulling 3G through corners was amazing. I’ll get a video up as soon as possible of that!

We also went for a night ski one evening. To be fair, we didn’t actually make it out for the day’s skiing due to a rather large session the night before. One of st Moritz’s ski areas opens up a long run which is floodlit most of the way down. Sadly not all of it, and you spend most of your time dodging drunk Italians ploughing down faster than they really can handle.

On the last night before we left, we crashed the last night of the Cresta Run party. I would like to give lots of detail on what we did and got up to but sadly according to Torbs I was “about as drunk as he’d ever seen me”. This I do remember – we had to bribe our way in, we got charged £15 a drink, we left as it closed, we went down the Olympic bobsleigh run on a tea tray and a broom, I woke up outside our hotel room on the floor and Torbs found my phone hanging from the door in a plastic bag the next day. Apart from that, absolutely nothing. Legend night though.

I’m not sure how I feel about St Moritz though. I’d like to say it was the crème de la crème of ski resorts, but I never really felt welcome. There was no après ski, the average age was well into the 50’s and we never really felt comfortable. I would love to do the Cresta Run again, but I doubt I’ll be going back to St Moritz for the skiing.

Cresta Run

I’m not going to dress this up in bravado, so I will admit that neither Torbs or I slept that well the night before our first day on the Cresta. We’d scoped out the location the night before, and seen the legendary “Shuttlecock” corner from the “Vultures Nest” viewing platform and it looked very fast, icy and dangerous.

We had to be at the clubhouse for 7am to kit-up and get on the riding list, which meant a very unwelcome 6am start. The run only opens in the morning, because after midday it’s too warm and the ice melts too much. On the drive down we spotted a strange looking fellow wearing what appeared to be plus-fours and a tatty jumper. “He’s probably on his way to the Cresta Run” joked Torbs.

As we walked through the changing room we were relieved to see suits of motorcross-style body armour hanging from a rack. We’d both brought back protectors (Torbs broke his a few years ago), and suddenly it looked as if we might have over compensated.

Sadly, the body armour belonged to members, and as beginners we had to make do with leather elbow pads and kneepads, accompanied by knuckle protectors. And a helmet, which we were helpfully told to “check it fits properly, you don’t want it falling over your eyes halfway down”. No shit Sherlock. The only other thing we were given were stout leather boots with “rakes” on the toes to give you some form of steerage / braking. (Though I later discovered that even if you dig them completely into the ice, they will never stop actually you, just realign your trajectory slightly)

Next stop was the clubhouse bar for the briefing from the Secretary. As we walked in we were blown away by what appeared to be a room full of people wearing plus-fours and slightly ratty jumpers. It was as if we had just jumped back a century into the middle of a foxhunt. Looking more closely, we could spot body armour underneath the outfits creating a slightly perverse hybrid of high tech safety equipment and 1800’s high fashion. (I should also point out that although the ages ranged from late 20’s to early 60’s, there was a pervasive smell of wealth through the room. Not newly made internet or stockbroker wealth, but old-school trust fund wealth.)

The Secretary opened by showing the 10 of us complete beginners a composite X-Ray that had been put together showing some of the injuries over the years. Broken necks, arms, backs, various plates and screws didn’t do a lot to reassure us. He then mentioned some rules, emphasised that we had just signed our lives away downstairs on a small piece of paper, and pointed out that people had died on the Cresta Run. Which was nice.

We were then introduced to our “Guru” who simply wanted us to make it down intact in about 70 seconds (the fastest riders make it in about 45 seconds with a push start). He didn’t want anyone coming out at Shuttlecock as that just wastes one of our 5 rides. (He forgot to mention the potential for critical injury). We were introduced to our 30 kg face-down sleds and shown how in theory we steer using your toes. And then we were off.

The hardest part is the waiting. Essentially you lie face down and ready on your sled as soon as the previous rider goes off. You then have about 60 seconds to stare down the ice track and contemplate what’s about to happen. As your name is announced, the safety man removes his foot and off you go. The sled gains speed, and for the first time you can test your steering and brakes. You have no idea how effective they will be in advance because you can’t test them, so you really have to guess as you go down. The one other time I’ve suddenly realised I’m going to have to learn something so critical so quickly was on my first solo skydive when your parachute opens and it suddenly becomes clear you’ve never been taught how to steer one before.

After one run, 2 of the beginners had already decided they had had enough. Torbs and I caught our “Guru” sloping off after we’d done two runs to do some shopping. “Can you tell the others to try changing hands on Shuttlecock” he said making a motion not unlike a poor 70’s disco move. “Uh, OK” we said, not confident in our Cresta Run teaching abilities after just 2 runs.

But one positive is that once you’re round Shuttlecock (SC), you don’t really have to steer anymore – you’re along for the ride. Post-SC you might get banged about a bit, but you can’t come out of the track. Survive SC and you survive the run. Get it wrong and you’re flying though the air with 30 kg of solid sled towards a protective landing of snow and a bit of straw. The previous week someone had fractured 2 vertebrate coming off at speed.

The thing is it’s addictive. One run and we were hooked. By the bottom you’re doing 50mph + headfirst on ice – that’s a good rush. I’m not saying the butterflies aren’t there beforehand, but you really do relish it. By the end of the second day we had done 7 runs and decided that it was probably time we called it quits. Partly because it was costing 50 Swiss Francs for every hit of adrenaline, partly because we were down to 55 seconds and getting quite competitive, and partly because we knew that you can push your luck a little too far.

Note: I managed (upsetting our Guru) to get my Helmet Camera on during the days, so I’ve included a video of my closest “run in” with Shuttlecock. I over-cooked it and should have been thrown out of the corner (to the extent I had straw stuck under my sled!) but somehow crashed back in and survived. Don’t ask me how, just enjoy….

St Moritz

St Moritz is an expensive place to ski. Partly because they think it’s reasonable to charge almost £10 for a pint, but also because the kind of person that holidays there doesn’t just have to transport his family there on holiday, but also his wife’s fur coat collection, his mistress and however many illegitimate children he has too.

As a ski resort it’s OK. They were having the best snow for 15 years, so you can’t really complain, but it’s nothing compared to the French super-resorts. One big upside is that the clientele don’t really ski that much. Sure, they get a private instructor, have long lunches and cruise a few blues, but it’s more about seeing and being seen. (I should point out that even the ski instructor’s kit is made by Prada – I’m not joking!) This does mean that the off-piste is virtually untouched, all the blacks are empty and you can get a lot of skiing in.

It’s also the first place I’ve ever seen someone arrive at the slopes in a stretched Merc, just in time for lunch.

Leaving the UK

Google told us it was 1015km, was going to take 11 hours from Calais and we were booked on the 10am ferry from Dover. So when Torbs called me at 11pm the night before to ask what he needed to pack I should have been concerned. Not as concerned as Torbs though, as I was ordering main course in a restaurant in Covent Garden with my folks.

Not the ideal start, but we made the ferry, had offensively large fried breakfasts headed into France. Two words which are not in Torbs’s vocabulary are “mechanical sympathy” (he managed to drown his last car), and within minutes of him taking over the driving duty, we had a red warning light on the dash saying “Check Engine”. I consulted the handbook, and it recommended “immediately visiting dealer”. Not an option, so we drove on. I took over and the “muppet driver warning light” went out, confirming that the car feared Torbie’s “binary” driving style.

The drive was long, dull and tiring. The last hour or so was spent fighting our way up the mountain in a blizzard at 10 mph. we eventually arrived at 11pm, and crashed out, very aware we were just 36 hours from the Cresta Run.

Speed Riding

Speed-riding is a fairly recent hybrid of skiing and paragliding. The idea is that you ski down a hill wearing a small parachute which gives you lift and the ability to fly for small distances. You can gain lift and use the parachute to fly over terrain. Apart from that, there’s not a lot more to say.

For this leg I'm being joined by Bruce, my business partner.

Ski Jumping

Who can forget the legend that was Eddie “the Eagle” Edwards? Though often considered as a bit of a laughing stock, Eddie was actually a very good skier indeed. He was not only the British National Ski-jumping Record holder, but also the World No 9 in Amateur Speed-skiing (106.8mph) and the Stunt Jumping World Record Holder (10 cars / 6 buses). And let’s be fair he had balls of steel throwing himself 80 meters into the unknown in front of millions of people. He’s also the only individual athlete to be mentioned in an Olympic closing ceremony, when the games president in Calgary said “At this Games some competitors have won gold, some have broken records and one has even flown like an eagle."

I am a huge fan off Eddie because I can see through the plucky loser tag and appreciate quite what he achieved. He was totally self funded, made do with inadequate kit and terribly short sighted, yet he made it to the greatest sporting event on earth and became Britain’s most famous winter Olympian. The downside is that he is also responsible for the IOC introducing the “Eddie the Eagle Rule”, which requires Olympic hopefuls to compete in international events and place in the top 30 percent or the top 50 competitors, whichever is the lesser. So don’t expect to see any other plucky Brits jumping at the Winter Olympics in 2010.

I’ve always wanted to launch off a ski jump. I love the adrenaline rush, and Eddie’s feats have been imprinted on my imagination since 1988. I’m not aiming to get anywhere close to his achievements, but I do want to go off a full size ski jump under my own steam.

Apparently there is not much of a market for 30-somethings wanting to learn to ski jump, and finding someone to help has been tricky. My letter to Eddie the Eagle Edwards has gone unanswered (though I can’t really blame him – no doubt he regularly has crackpots hassling him), the Canadians had a couple of lessons on offer but I’d have to join a class of 8 year olds and most of the Scandinavians I’ve spoken to have been less than helpful.

However, after 2 years trying to find someone to help, James Lambert (who took the British Record from Eddie) has offered to help. He is a member of the British Masters, a ski jumping team of ex-pats based in Scandinavia, and has agreed to meet me at the International Masters Championship at Ruhpolding at the beginning of March. From there, who knows…

Speed Skiing

Throughout my years of skiing I have always loved the speed. When I first learnt at 7 years old, the instructor struggled to explain to me why I actually needed to turn. All I wanted to do was straight-line every slope, then go up and do it all again. To try and slow me down a bit, Dad took me down the Lauberhorn downhill race slope in Wengen. He also demonstrated why I needed to turn by taking me across my first mogul field and had a very big crash. I’ll point out now that Dad made no attempt to stop me or explain what a mogul field is, but he did seem to enjoy watching it happen.

During my gap year I worked in a kitchen washing dishes in Val d’Isere to feed my habit. Every day as soon as I was done, I’d strap on the biggest skis I could find and hammer down my favour slope as fast as possible. Every day, no matter the weather I’d head out. I always wanted to be a downhill racer, but lack of skiing at a young age, and an engineering degree meant it was never going to happen. The closest I got was a few Giant Slalom races with instructors, and an informal, yet highly dangerous race in St Anton against an ex-member of the British Ski Team for his downhill skis. Those skis are now in the Gambia somewhere, but that’s another story.

Speed Skiing is a fairly simple sport. Essentially you find the steepest hill you can and point straight down. No turns, no brakes, just as much straight-line speed as possible. To put some numbers next to it, a typical holiday skier might do 20mph down a normal slope and can hit 40 mph on a “shuss”. If you fall off a tall building, then terminal velocity before you splat is about 125mph. The world speed ski record is 156 mph. My best to date is a rather antisocial 70 mph on a public ski slope measured on a GPS. My target is to break the 100mph barrier.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speed_skiing

Cresta Run

The St Moritz Tobogganing Club is an ancient institution dating back to 1887, which every year builds a icy track for members to throw themselves down. It’s steeped in tradition and remains one of the most exclusive clubs in the world. It’s also unlike any other bobsleigh / sled track in the world in that you it is designed to spit you out if you go too fast. All other tracks consider this to be too “dangerous”, whereas the Cresta has an unbanked corner called “Shuttlecock” which is you attempt to go too fast will simply throw you and your 30kg sled onto a highly advanced landing point of soft snow and straw. Oh yes, and you do all this headfirst reaching speeds of 50mph+ for beginners. It has killed people, and even as recently as last year one rider lost part of his leg halfway down. Ouch.

Transport to the Alps - November

Right, first things first. Transport. Flying out to the Alps is the traditional method of heading on a ski trip, but doesn’t give me a lot of flexibility. In addition, most airlines will also charge you the price of a small estate in the Cotswolds just to carry a tennis racket, and BA even refuse to carry my surfboard at all now.

And I’m going to have kit, and lots of it. As any bloke knows, the amount of “kit” you’ve got is crucial. There is no such thing as “too much kit”. If you’re female and disagree, just take a look at your shoe collection and ask whether there’s space for another pair of Jimmy Choos. And I have a lot of ski kit. 3 pairs of skis, ski boots, ski poles, a snowboard and snowboard boots to start with. Oh yes, and a stuffed badger.

I’m a big fan of “challenging transport”, having towed a caravan across the Sahara Desert, a Rickshaw coast to coast across India and a £91 BMW 2,000 miles across Europe in 5 days. My first thought was up the challenge a little more and take some entirely inappropriate transport. My Vespa immediately sprung to mind, but there’s a very good reason why you’re more likely to see Lord Lucan in a ski resort than a motorbike. Next idea was my beloved MGB roadster, but I’ve had to discount that because it’s a) Not waterproof and the heater has broken b) Dangerous to drive in the wet, let alone on snow and c) Less reliable than an Italian politician.

So it appears I have bought another car. I was very careful in my research, deciding exactly what I needed. Four wheel drive of course. A big boot to fit lots of kit in. Leather seats, because I’d never had a car with leather seats before. And a twin-turbocharged engine with a bonnet scoop, because I’m a bloke.

So still extremely hungover last night, I trekked down to Croydon and bought a 2000 Subaru GTB estate car with 144,000 miles on the clock. That’s quite a high mileage for a car with a very highly tuned (and supposedly quite fragile) engine, in fact it’s about the same as driving around the earth 6 times. Spare parts will also be a bit of an issue, because the model was never officially sold in the UK. For some reason Subaru UK never imported it because they didn’t think there was that much of a market for 170mph estate cars.

I also took the sensible step of not taking it for a test drive because I wasn’t really legally sober yet. And I looked at it in the dark, because of some train delays. However, due to its particularly dishevelled appearance and astronomic mileage I got it for a song.

I look forward to picking it up and seeing if it actually drives. I never said I’d be that practical.

Update:

Turns out the car is purple. Which is a bit of a surprise, but also a lesson on why not to buy a car in the dark.

The Plan

Over the course of 4 weeks I’m aiming to “do” the Cresta Run, learn to Ski Jump, learn to Speed Fly and break 100mph Speed Skiing.

For the first leg out to St Moritz in Switzerland for the Cresta Run, David “Danger” Torbet will be joining me. “Torbs” is my flatmate and loves a challenge. He also broke his back skiing a few years ago so shouldn’t really be doing this. [His middle name really is Danger after I changed it by Deedpoll for his birthday a few years back. His mum still hasn’t forgiven me.]

After that, it’s ski jumping. Then the others. I’m aiming to be back in the UK about 5 weeks later for the beginning of April.

The Inspiration

Ski Jumping, Speed Skiing, Speed Riding and the Cresta Run. That’s the plan. In the space of 4 weeks in 2009 I want to learn how to do each of them.

This all started, as most good things do, in the pub. On the 21st October 2006 to be precise. On my way to the bar I bumped into a chap wearing a ski jacket with “British Team” emblazed on it. Not that unusual at the ski show, however this bloke was so pissed he was crashing into everyone and everything on the way back from the bog. I was also fairly leathered and being sociable, I asked what skiing discipline he did. “Speed Skiing” he said. At this point I thought he would be better qualified for the British rudeness team (an interesting concept, but you know they’d always lose to the French at the World Championships) because he wasn’t even looking at me when he answered, he was staring back towards the bar at his pint. Expecting him to head back to his pint which was obviously the centre of his attention at this point, I started to walk away. “Do you ski?” he said.

Now I was confused. This guy can’t even be bothered to look me in the face when he’s talking to me, but he wants to keep up a conversation he’s not even apparently interested in. Perhaps he’s a Guiness fan and has a couple of minutes to kill before it’s settled? I was intrigued by Speed Skiing, so I thought I’d ignore his rudeness and get him to look at me by subtly sliding sideways into his field of vision. Perhaps he’s just really shy I thought.

It was at this point I introduced myself and held out my hand for a good firm “we’re both men here, there’s no need to be rude / shy” kind of shake. “Kev” he said. And left me hanging. And hanging. And people round us started to notice that there I was with my hand obviously pointed at his groin, while he just looked blankly at me. I eventually withdrew, and made a mental note never to make the same mistake in a gay bar.

At was at this point he rummaged round in his pocket and pulled out a card. It is to this day still the coolest business card I have ever seen, and at that point it all made sense. It read “Kev Alderton, Blind Speed Skier”. “F*ck me” I said “Your golden retriever must have balls the size of watermelons”.

Kev and I grabbed a pint and had a chat about skiing, ambition, world records and chalet girls. To break more than 100mph on skis, he has a mate (Norman Clark) on a radio link who directs him down the speed slope, which helps make up for the fact he has just 4% vision. He lost his sight in 1998 after being attacked by a gang in Islington. I won’t go into the details but you can read more about it here. His story is remarkable, well worth reading and inspired me to give it a crack myself.