Rare Adventures

Category: Daily traumas and fun

Stories about day to day fun and events

When The Apprentice came to stay

It took me eight years to persuade one of my best mates, The Apprentice, that he should come mountain biking in the Alps and that we would have a great time, riding in the sun during the day and drinking beer by the lake at night – what was there not to love.

Massive storms, floods, diverted flights, broken bones and a long lost son.

Over the last couple of years, we have established an annual boys event on the bikes, 2 years ago we did the North to South Devon bike trail, a 100 mile ride across Dartmoor, with a night in a country pub with a lot of cans of beer on the train home to celebrate our achievement.

Last year the plan was to ride my 50km route around North Somerset, checking out the pubs as we went, but this was sabotaged by VW Festival, which was taking place exactly halfway round the route on the day of our ride. So, we included it in the schedule, camped overnight, and made a video blog of the chaos of that day.

So it was with some trepidation that my mate agreed to come on the trip, and to be fair things did not start too well. I arrived the day before on a 7pm flight into Genevea and tried to make the trip to our apartment on public transport, but was sabotaged, I was caught in a huge thunder and lightning storm that shut down the entire train system in South West France and left me stranded with a £70 taxi bill.

When The Apprentice flew the next day things got significantly worse. The region had another huge lightning storm in the evening. It shut down Geneva airport, created torrential rain, as well as the train network. His flight was heading for the Geneva until 30 minutes from landing. I was poised in the apartment preparing to leave to pick him up when his Easyjet flight path suddenly changed towards Lyon, and then even worse diverted again towards Nice, basically he was going on a tour of the airports in South West France. Luckily he stocked up with beer in the flight.

After refuelling at Nice, they took off and flew back to Geneva now the storm was over, but no, they went to Lyon because they were now too late to land in Geneva. After sitting on the Lyon runway for 90 minutes waiting to be unloaded, he finally got on a bus and finally at 5:15 am, 10 hours late and he had been to 3 airports.

By the time I picked him up we arrived back in the apartment at 7am, and the enjoyed a beer on the balcony watching the sunrise, “welcome to France mate”.

So, after only a couple of hours kip, we decided due to tiredness, to skip mountain biking for the day and go for a walk in Cirque de Fer a Cheval, an amazing canyon with waterfalls everywhere. Unfortunately, the storm from the night before had caused the floods down through the valley and surge had washed the roads away and it was all closed, in fact, even worse a woman had been killed when a bridge was washed away but the surge.

Undeterred, we ignored the roadblocks, parked near the Cirque, reviewed the damage created by the storm surge and did the walk anyway, leaving my mate amazed at the beauty of the Alps at it’s best, even though bits had been washed away the night before. In hindsight and having recently watched the scenes from the water surges in Nepal, I’m not sure that this was one of my better ideas.

That evening I introduced my mate to the “Morillon Massive”, the group of Brits with homes in the village that gather for beers, by the lake in the summer or by the gondola in the winter. My mate got to enjoy sitting in the sun, watching the sunset looking west, and looking east towards the orange glow on the mountains from the setting sun. The Apprentice was falling in love with the Alps.

We had our evening BBQ on our balcony, investigated the booze cupboard and I presented him with a Rare Adventures T Shirt as a memento of that moment. Unfortunately, he has put on a bit of weight lately so the T Shirt wasn’t big enough, this list of bad luck was getting longer.

The thing is, when you have been friends with someone for 40 years, and have managed to get up to all sort of mischief, there is a never ending list of stories to reminisce on, all of which get funnier the more you have to drink.

In our block there is a little bar called the Tetras, and in the winter it is a major distraction when trying to get back home, as it is difficult to pass it after a good day on the piste, especially with the Morillon Massive are gathered discussing the day. It has been noted by other friends that the landlord, indomitable Flo. has a striking similar to The Apprentice. So this was the first opportunity to put them side by side, I will leave you to form an opinion but the word “love child” does come to mind, and Flo did actually smile and look happy, or maybe he was just bemised at the attention of the latest member of the Britpack.

Next day, we headed off to Avoriaz to show him around the spectacular scenery before doing the incredible bike trails in La Chatel. We made it safely to the peak on the French and Swiss border with some of the most stunning views in the region.

In one of those amazing coincidences that only seem to happen to me, I heard someone shout “Hello Rod”, in this remote corner of France, one of my pals from walking football just happened to get off a lift at the split second I was putting on my helmet, 30 seconds later he wouldn’t have seen me, an unbelievable coincidence.

The Apprentice and I headed down the trail, stopping for photos, and then into the last section into the Avoriaz valley for coffee when disaster struck. On the very first trail of the day he managed to go over the handlebars on one of the gravel access roads.

I had stopped to wait for him and was looking at the view when I heard a scream and a crash, the two Frenchie riders stood beside me ran towards the accident. I turned around and genuinely could not believe my eyes, there was my mate on the ground, covered in dirt with the bike wrapped around him.

I was so disbelieving I actually nudged him with my toe to check it was him, which got an unappreciative response, as did my enquiry as to where was all his protective gear I had given him. Luckily, he had a full face helmet on, but we was clearly badly shaken up.

Sadly, a trip that had 3 days of mountain biking in beautiful scenery ended right there, he never got to see the bike parks. We got him down to the village, where he had a couple of recovery beers that did him good but didn’t solve the problem of his smashed up body what turned out to be a broken wrist. Examination of the GoPro footage still hasn’t really solved the mystery of why he fell off.

So we headed back to the bar by the lake, downed a few more beers, shared his story with the Morillon Massive, one of who was a medic and diagnosed the broken wrist, one for A&E when he got back.

I offered to take him for a hike across the mountains on the last day, but he opted for a day of watching Indiana Jones films in the apartment followed by a pub crawl along the river and a final sunset beer by the lake.

It had been quite a trip, it hadn’t gone anything like it was supposed to but we really had a great time with plans being put into place for next years adventure. In fact, it had been even more eventful than the visit from my mate The Mechanic in June, which was hardly dull.

So it’s not only me that has these misadventures it rubs off from my friends as well.

As I often say what’s the worst thing that could happen?

As he still carries the scars from Thailand in 1992, I guess he knew what to expect !

26/08/2026
Spills, thrills, and The Mechanic at Les Gets

3 years ago I smashed up my hip in a mountain bike fall in the Alps, and the mate I was riding with was nowhere to be seen when it happened, he had charged off down the mountain and I had to find my own way down, on that occasion it was my mate The Chemist who disappeared down the mountain, and as I pointed out to him, what is the point of you being here if we don’t stick together.

A year later, armed with a replacement hip. I agreed to go to the Alps again, but explained to my mate The Mechanic, that I would need to take things very easy as the hip was only 3 months old and we would need to stick together just in case. First run of the trip and he belted off down the mountain on his own and left me to it. Once again, I pondered the point of going mountain biking with mates, when in fact, you don’t see them on the runs.

Last year I drove down to the Alps, loaded up with my new enduro bike and The Mechanic’s newly acquired second hand bike. We had concluded that the cost of renting a bike, about £80 per day, justified buying a second hand bike and leaving it down there. My mate managed to find a bike but I didn’t have much luck but managed to find a new one in the sales that was 60% off, which I decided was a safer bet, as the bikes take a real hammering.

After getting all the gear down to France for him, The Mechanic then decided life was too complicated and he couldn’t find the time to join me – great.

Last year , I ended up riding on my own, which wasn’t my first choice option but as the days went on, I realised that I was actually enjoying the rides more on my own than I would have done with having a mate around. I could go where I wanted, as fast as a wanted, didn’t have to wait for anyone or try and work out where they had ended up.

So, this year, I had the pleasure of The Mechanics company again and I have to say it was rather eventful. If you have read the blogs from last summer, you will have noted that I was haunted by a Gremlins that made my life difficult by hiding things away and breaking stuff, this year I had The Mechanic.

To be fair to The Mechanic, he is obviously very good with mechanical things and does like to go fast on his bike. The problem is that his competence doesn’t always match his speed, when he was last here 2 years ago, I spotted his legs sticking out of a bush he had veered into at high speed for no obvious reason. I helped him out and dusted him down, he had had a similar incident at Cannock Forest a few years ago when he ended up concussed.

To start the trip, we headed straight for Les Carroz to warm up on their quieter runs. On the first run down The Mechanic was following in a well behaved manner, but at a fork in the trail we went different ways and he got to the bottom a bit before me. On the subsequent run I found him in a ditch and he had a few more bumps before the gears on his bike broke, turned out he hadn’t used his mechanical prowess to check his second hand bike before sending it to the Alps.

All that being said, there was one definite advantage of having my mate with me, we could wander down to the lake for a swim and a beer. He claimed to be alcohol free, I soon cured him of that again. With the sun out and temperature at 35c, it is not unreasonable to assume that the water in the local lake would be reasonably warm, but I learned to my horror last year, that it is fed by a mountain stream and is absolutely freezing.

A good chance for a prank on my mate, so I wandered out on the pontoon and jumped in, held my breath and shouted, “Come on mate it’s lovely”. He dived in and the look on his face was a picture when he resurfaced, he was gasping for air and clearly on the verge of a heart attack from the icy water. Nothing like nearly killing your mate for a laugh.

Next day, we headed for Les Gets, took the lifts to the top of the area, the views are absolutely stunning and it was yet another beautiful day. The newly attached replacement parts were installed and he was ready to go.

The runs in Les Gets are very steep, I led the way down and arrived at one of the fire road break points and waited for my mate, and waited, and waited and eventually he turned up covered in mud, a badly damaged finger, a broken brake lever and something else had broken as well, apparently the brake lever broke off on a steep turn, hardly idea.

It was all a mystery how this catastrophe had happened and why he crashed so badly, however I had a fair idea, it was likely to do with speed and competence. Anyway, it marked the end of that part of the day as he couldn’t ride with a bike in bits.

So, he made his way back down the mountain on the fire road with a snapped ligament on little finger, only a front brake and his pride as bruised as his body. As a good friend, I decided to do a few runs on my own to have some fun and promised to meet him again at the bottom in a couple of hours.

When I got to the bottom the repair bill for his bike had reached £500 and I was generally congratulating myself on the wisdom of buying a bargain new rather than a second hand bike, if the Mechanic was having this trouble imagine the mess I would get into.

Anyway, we were up and running again and we headed off on our adventures for the rest of the day. I made sure I was second down the slope and I had to take care to check bushes and obstacles along the way to make sure the Mechanic wasn’t lying there, we had more incidents but they were harmless compared to the morning and the day before.

Up to this point, I was congratulating myself on my smooth riding and not falling off, well all that went horribly wrong on the last run home, when I took a berm fast and found a loose rock on the bend and stacked the bike big time and arrived in the bar at the bottom covered in scrapes and mud.

As I sat there supping I beer, I reflected on a strange thought, that even though it hurt like hell, but at least I knew I was alive and it was a good way to celebrate by 67^th birthday.

As the repair bill and the injury list mounted, the last day we decided he needed a day off so we went for a walk up the wonderful Cirque Cheval canyon to look at the amazing waterfalls and just get over the injuries before heading home.

We also had an England game to watch that night when we took on DR Congo, and it is fair to say that the match didn’t set the French alight, and we really struggled to find a bar to watch the game, but we got there in the end !

So, this was my first holiday with the Mechanic since our trip to Ibiza last year, and it was also my first accompanied mountain bike trip for 2 years. My mate is always good company and events are normally unconventional and this trip was no different, we had a lot of fun as usual.

10/08/2026
Tips for a Successful Trip to Les Gets Bike Park

I always look forward to the next trip to the Les Gets Bike Park, hot sunny days, hard baked berms and swooping down through the trees. The drive from Morillon is about 30 minutes so I needed to pack the bike into the back of the car and get all my stuff together.

The last trip to Les Gets was good but didn’t quite go according to plan thanks to the ever present Gremlins in my life. I had planned to video the runs for the YouTube channel so that people planning to visit could get a little insight into what awaited them.

top of Les Gets bike park

Last time I arrived at Les Gets I put the bike together and got to the top of the Chavannes Express lift, only to discover that the battery in my Go Pro camera was flat. I decided to go back down and try and buy a battery, which wasted an hour and produced no new battery. I had a great day on the bike but no YouTube content, even worse, I had a crash and smashed the camera mount anyway, so that was the end of that.

I wasn’t going to make the same mistake this time, double checked all the gear and packed it into my rucksack, packed the bike, made sure I had all the tools and repair kits, and off I went. In the underground car park I assembled the bike, put all the gear on and the last job was to attach the Go Pro. To my absolute horror the little bolt that attaches the camera to the mounting wasn’t there, how could that be?

View from the Triple 8 run

Gremlin attack

I had used it on the previous day on the Morillon runs, it couldn’t have disappeared from the mount, but it had. I searched the car, all the bags but nope, it wasn’t there. That meant it must have come off back in the garage and I had a spare in the apartment, but it meant a 1 hour round trip, that damned Gremlin. I didn’t bother stripping off padding, just jumped in the car and high tailed it back to Morillon, thank God for air conditioning and the patience of my wife to listen to my woes.

Just over 1 hour later, I was back in the same car parking bay, in exactly the same position I had been before but this time the camera was attached the bike, and I was ready to. I wasted no time getting out of there and up on the Chavanne Express lift for the first run and to make up for the hour I had wasted.

Some of you may have read the blog about my winter season in the Alps, when, after 65 years, I had concluded that quite randomly, I would have a quite irrational approach to risky situations at times, in fact I concluded I had a personal Gremlin living in my head that was trying to kill me.

View from La Nauchets lift, Les Gets

Risk Aversion

In response, I had decided that for my summer season mountain biking I needed to be a bit more grown up. Unlike snowboarding which happens in the ski area near our apartment, I had to drive to the bike parks so if I got injured, I would not only have the problem getting me down with not help, but getting the car home car as well, something as simple as a dislocated shoulder would be a disaster.

I made a rule, not just a promise, that I would only do blue runs, they are hairy enough at times and I still have crashed on them. However, as I had done most of them before. I knew where most of the dangers lay, so that is why the videos supporting this story are of the blue runs, for once in my life, I stuck to my rule.

The ride up on the Chavannes Express took me over the jump park and the Foue Libre trail, which is the run home, not only that, but you also get glimpses of some hairy looking black trails lurking in the woods. When I arrived out at the top of the Chavannes Express, I was ready for action and unhindered by mates.

Les Gets bike park top section

On previous trips my mates, notably The Chemist and The Mechanic have accompanied me. Despite explaining the routes to them they either shoot off in the wrong direction or just shoot off anyway and I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to work out where they have gone. When I eventually find them, they are normally going on about a Strava time rather than the hassle they have caused me, I have even found them in the undergrowth after crashes.

I checked the camera, and everything was working so it was time to go. At the top of this lift you can head back into Les Gets, head round the mountain to Morzine or head over to the Nauchets chair lift that takes you up to top of the mountain and the really steep runs, naturally I headed to the Nauchets lift.

For the story of the runs and videos of the trails, can be found in my next blog

07/10/2025
The best Mountain Biking Adventures in Forest of Dean

I’ve had a great year mountain biking, 2 great trips to France bouncing down the best that they have to offer and then there was the tour of the north with my mate. Lots of fun, a bit too much of the old Gremlins for my liking, but it’s been a great summer.

However, there is something very special about the Forest of Dean trails. The trails are excellent, with a huge blue run called the Verderers Trail and an equally huge red call the Freeminers trail. Both of them stretch to about 10km each, and to spice things up there is a specialist downhill area with huge jumps and drops, the kind of thing you won’t find a man of my age doing much of anytime soon.

The trails are good, but there is something else that makes it special. During the winter I’m normally pedalling around the local woods or around North Somerset wrapped up warm and enduring the weather, but when spring breaks through and there is a bit of warmth in the sun, I head to the Forest of Dean to celebrate. It’s the same around now, as we get to the end of September and the sun is still warm, I can’t help myself from heading over there to enjoy the last of the summer.

I was pondering why it was so special, and then I realised it was one of the few places I get to use all my boy toys. The drive over in the camper van is fun, it takes about an hour, so I pump up the volume on the stereo and set off, the route makes me along good, quiet roads through the Welsh border countryside pondering life and thinking how lucky I am.

I think it’s the whole package that makes it a special trip; I don’t go too often in case I spoil the magic.

There is something about the light in the trees in spring and autumn that just seems to make it better and when it’s all over and I’m feeling suitably knackered, I sit on the step of the van, pop the top on a beer and sit there chilling, listening to my favourite music, and sitting in my favourite place, the side step of the van. Watching the other riders coming and going, knowing they are envious of my van and rather perfect moment, it invariably ends up in a chat with someone about how their day went on the mountain trails.

To be honest, it hasn’t always ended well, 5 years ago I was enjoying my September experience at the Forest of Dean and was happily cruising back when disaster struck, I was in the traffic jam that is normally referred to as Chepstow. The engine started to judder, and by the time I realised the engine was overheating the damage was done and the engine seized up, a common fault water hose bursting problem on this model and you literally have about a minute to cut the engine if it happens and I was too late. Sadly, that started an 18 month torment with 2 replacement engines and no trips to the Forest of Dean.

Back to the mountain biking, the runs involve a long tour of the forest with plenty of climbing that is well managed by the design, and when you get to the top the runs down are brilliant. The sweeping run down the Verderers trail takes between 10 and 15 minutes and fully justifies the 40 odd minutes climbing and swooping to get you there. The red Freeminers isn’t quite so straight forward but it’s fine if you are on an e-bike, unless you are young and good and do rooty climbs!

These are the highlights of today’s visit.

Dizzys Decent red run

This video is showing a new red run that I found, seemed to be called Dizzys Drop or Dizzys Decent. It was challenging at the start, and I suspect it would be a bit hairy on a wet day over those roots on the steep section, but today it was lots of fun and tricky bits to deal with.

Countdown trail from top to bottom

This video is of a run that called Countdown, it’s the only blue run in the downhill section. The top section is nice and fast but isn’t particularly challenging, but the lower section is very fast and swoops up and down the sides of the valley, just as much fun as some of the French runs.

Twisted Sister down hill trail

Last video is from the downhill section, and is appropriately called Twisted Sister, just like my own sister, if you take your mind off it for a second you will end up in trouble. The last section is very steep and coming down over lots of roots and rocks, I did it in the wet last year and it was more about survival than fun, but today it was nice and dry.

02/10/2025
Winter Adventures in the Alps: A Personal Journey

A story of Chalet hosting, Gremlins and climate change.

In my first winter of “not working” I’d hoped to have lots of trips to the Alps, but it didn’t work out that way. Unpredictable weather forecasts and unusually poor snow led to leaving decisions late and often not going and missed opportunities for fun.

However, talking to the other Brits in our resort, they had been down there for the winter and it seemed to have had plenty of good snow and generally a good time all round. So, this year I took a different approach, I decided to base myself down there and take it as it comes, I mean, why hang around in Portishead in January.

For those snow lovers, young and old, the idea of spending a winter in the mountains, on the piste everyday on fresh snow, is the stuff of dreams. As we were lucky enough to own a place, then why not live the dream, what’s the worst thing that could happen?

The decision to go for the winter

In October, when I explained to my wife (Wooksie) that we would be spending the winter in the Alps, she corrected me and said, “That’s nice, you can, I’m not, a long weekend is enough for me and I’m not being dragged around the slopes all winter by you”.

A bit disappointing, but undeterred I made plans to head down in January. A pre visit to sort out the apartment in December, for the opening of the slopes, with my mate The Mechanic didn’t go off without incident, so it wasn’t a good omen (insert link). On the bright side I did invest in a new mattress (what works for 3 nights won’t work for 3 months) along with some cunning ideas to create more storage space, like beds on stilts!

We were there for the opening weekend of the season and it was awesome, huge snowfall in the days and The Mechanic and I were in the first lift up and after putting lines down the fresh snow on the open pistes, we then ripped up the steep unpisted runs that were covered in deep, soft and untouched snow.

Any doubts I had about committing to the winter in the Alps were gone, but then we headed home for Xmas and New Year with friends and Mother Outlaw.

We drove down on snowy night at the start of January; with an agreement Wookie could go home after a week. We expected our little resort to be quiet after New Year, but none of it, it was packed. It appeared that an entire generation of people “of a certain age”, that had had a similar idea to me. Many were still employed or running their own businesses and were just stretching the “working from home” definition.

The British winter invasion

The snow was good enough to be having a good run around of the area each day followed by an alarming amount of “bonne Ami” apres-ski with our British brethren. After 5 nights of beers, vodka redbulls and the local free local aperitifs in the bars we started to wane, I have to confess that we started to sneak past the bars or take the long way around to avoid rapturous welcomes from the crew. Wooksie insisted it was time for her to go home, enough was enough.

Snowboarding alone on the pistes

So, I ended up on my own for the second week of January. Various friends and family were scheduled to visit and keep me company, but for the first time in my life I was alone on the piste. It’s a strange experience when you are normally with pals. No one to chat to at coffee time; no point in stopping for a lunch time beer on my own; no one to show around; similar route most days; no one to wait for at the bottom or top of the lift and no rush to get up there in the morning or get back at night. What would normally take 4 hours was only take 90 minutes.

I set myself some targets to keep me focused, I wanted to do a 50km ride. I avoided speed records because there was this continual worry about what would happen if I had a bad fall and I was on my own and breaking speed records was fraught with danger.

The first day on my own the weather was perfect sun and blue sky, the snow was great and after 5 hours of riding without a break, the 50km target was achieved. I decided I would leave the black runs until I had some company so ended up cruising around the mountains on my own, enjoying the scenery, trying not to hurt myself and it wasn’t long before I started to get bored.

The thing that you miss if you only go for a week is the chance to just enjoy the scenery, so apart from belting around the mountain on a snowboard, I also did a lot of walking and just enjoying being there, living in the snow (when it was around).

The Chalet Hosting treadmill begins

Anyway, this solitude only lasted a week because the visitors started to arrive and in fact I started a new career as a chalet host. I’d clean the apartment, make the beds, drive to Geneva Airport to pick them up, cook them meals, go snowboarding, show them around mountain, drive them back to the airport, clean the apartment, make the beds before the next lot arrived. If I was lucky, they would organise their own transport.

Don’t get me wrong, it was great having company, it was just rather exhausting, as a person to which cleanliness, order and routine doesn’t come naturally. My friends didn’t expect a chalet service, but in the absence of much else to do, why not do it. There is no fun going up on the mountain on a miserable day, let alone doing it on your lonesome.

In late January, we had a “full house” of family, we also had the kind of day snowboarders dream of. It snowed all Saturday afternoon and night, and we woke up to fresh snow all over the mountain and bright blue sky. The snow had fallen on the bashed pistes, so it was a bit treacherous but off piste it was perfect, these are days that other people talk about, but I never got.

The second half of the season lasted until the snow started to really deteriorate in mid-March, so I had the long, lonely drive home to Bristol. but it wasn’t without surprises, Calais beach sea front is really nice (not the town you understand).

We have a monster black run down under one of the chair lifts that I see most days, I hadn’t t done before because we had never had good enough snow, but in the company of my eldest lad, who I taught to snowboard 22 years ago, we had the most amazing run through miles of fresh snow, it will never be that good again and those of the memories I was looking for.

Back in time for historical Argyle games

I lasted the whole of January but headed back for February when the French school holidays begin and to see Argyle beat Liverpool in the FA Cup.

Our resort in Morillon is massively popular in February with families, no place for a man of my age for sure and most of the expats bailed out as well. 3 weeks back in the UK rekindled my enthusiasm for the mountain life and I headed back just as soon as Argyle lost to Man City in the FA Cup.

I arrived back in early March with a new schedule of pals to look forward to hosting. I still had one more thing on my to do list, a rather intimidating black run. Even though we have been coming here for 8 years, the family mostly ski on piste, so I don’t get to do this kind of run, and it was inviting me to have a go every time I saw it across the valley, not to mention intimidating me.

Gremlin brain attack

I had planned to do it when some of my snowboarding pals were with me but for some reason the “gremlin” got inside my head when I was on my own. A day when the visibility on the mountain was varying from poor to complete white out (invisible), depending where you were on the mountain, conditions when you should really just go home and get a book out.

I was in the lift that runs over this part of the mountain, the visibility seemed OK and there was fresh snow to help with the inevitable moguls and “Gremlin” was in my head saying “you’ll be fine”, “what’s the worst thing that can happen”, “if your mates were here you would do it, so what is stopping you”. I gave in and decided to do it and get it the “monkey off my back”, or maybe the “Gremlin out of my head”.

Initially (the bit I could see from the lift) the ride it was fine, but then it went super narrow with massive moguls and the visibility reduced to just a few yards as it dropped into a gorge. It wasn’t long before I was on my backside with a jarred elbow, bruised buttock and with no clear way down through the moguls with what seemed an almost vertical drop.

It was then that reality hit me, there is no one around because only a mad person would be doing this black run in these conditions, I don’t know the route down, I can’t even see the end of the piste, and the run is probably the toughest I’ve come across with moguls and ice. “What the hell am I doing here?”.

Survival mode kicked in, if in doubt sit on your ass, leaf the board, forget style, fall when you need to (no one is watching) and obviously I got down in the end, and even more oddly I did another 50km that day in awful visibility, almost to get over the trauma.

This was a bit of an epiphany in some ways, there are lots of dangerous things that I would never consider doing that are way beyond my level of competence. However, I have got myself into all dangers, scrapes, and injuries over the years which I’ve struggled to explain how or why it happened. Now I know, when “Gremlin” gets inside my head I just don’t see danger, so in future the alarms bells will be ringing, a sign of my increasing maturity, I hope.

Something you don’t realise until you live in the mountains, is how totally unreliable the weather forecasts are. When you go for a week, you normally get a bit of a mix anyway, but it is really volatile. The previous year I was basing my visits on the forecasts, but they are hopeless. This winter I was probably lucky because it was cold, and the pistes were maintained with manmade snow.

Global warming

It is difficult to know whether it is global warming and what is just cyclical. Last (23/24) winter was described as the worst since so and so. Therefore, it has been this bad in previous winters, but there does seem to be a trend now. We used to look forward to spring and light evenings at Easter in April, now it is running out in mid-March. On the other hand, the opening weekend in December had the best snowfalls of the year.

So, I have now “done a winter season”, that is off the to do list. I guess I’ve learned that being there alone isn’t much fun after a couple of days and there are only so many times you can do the runs in a ski area.

Living in France and only having very limited language is OK until you try to communicate beyond a bar or a restaurant. I read a lot when I was on my own but never got around the French language lessons (sorry Dave Padfield), and it was good to have the company of my friends and all the expats, but not every night!

Looking forward to January already. Next winter I will spend more time commuting to the numerous other resorts within an hour of our place for a bit more variety and challenge.

29/08/2025