SkiBike Tour 2010-11 - Beautiful Burnout
Posted: Wednesday 19 January 2011 by Mark Kinnon in Labels: 2010-11 Tour, D.I.Y., SkiBike, Switzerland
0
Despite the temptation to somehow fit in a few more hours of skiing and skibiking, the grown up in me has taken over and set me a list of domestic chores.
At least whilst working my way down the cleaning checklist (and hopefully winning another invite to enjoy this awesome Geneva bolt hole) I can reflect wistfully on the past month in which I took a leap of faith into a nebulous world of clouds, ice and snow.
I took a ride sideways through time and bridged the years that have both divide and unite myself and my cousin Paul to play "Catch me if you can" on a sun kissed mountainside.
I have tackled a vicious diamond black run armed with little more than a pair of tiny footskis, a middle aged man's faltering balance on blown knees; egged on and encouraged by work colleague/client, drinking buddy and chief victim of my off-piste pork and beans based chalet cuisine, Wilf.
On the same footskis I have broken the law and found myself in the places where skibikes are forbidden. I have slid on a never ending sheet of hard snow/ice for what seemed like all eternity and lived to tell the tale; all in the cause of the "Wilf Method" of skibiker cross-training that makes you ride your skibike as if possessed by demons.
I have played with an accomplished extreme pegging skibiker and we have stopped on the mountainside and laughed with all the joy of innocents and imbeciles; a skibiker brotherhood united in the pursuit of a dazzling alpine dream with handlebars and a grin that will split your lips in the rarefied atmosphere.
To the many nameless individuals who have expressed an interest in skibiking and accepted my card on the piste; especially those to whom I have marched roughshod over your noble French language in stinky ski boots, "Je M'excuse Mes Copains".
To the old chap hitch hiker who only wants to stay in his provincial village without a proper bus service "Bon Chance" and to the bloke in Mollesuiz with a busted Achile's Tendon who needed to get to the hospital in Annemasse "Bon Sante".
To the operatives of the Remontees Mechaniques who made sure I was safe and occasionally bent the rules a little to get me to the top of the hill. Merci Mille Fois und Ville Danke.
Lastly behind the scenes; I thank the person who sponsored, without limitation, my habitation in Geneva.
I have been sagely counselled by the "Port Out Starboard Home" big brainers, shown the way by the "Skibikers on the Piste", given the green light by the SAGB and the AFVS and most recently lifted high by the once underground skibike builders of the UK who are now emerging from their closets no longer to be shamed to live the same dream.
And for those about to rock, I salute you!
At least whilst working my way down the cleaning checklist (and hopefully winning another invite to enjoy this awesome Geneva bolt hole) I can reflect wistfully on the past month in which I took a leap of faith into a nebulous world of clouds, ice and snow.
I took a ride sideways through time and bridged the years that have both divide and unite myself and my cousin Paul to play "Catch me if you can" on a sun kissed mountainside.
I have tackled a vicious diamond black run armed with little more than a pair of tiny footskis, a middle aged man's faltering balance on blown knees; egged on and encouraged by work colleague/client, drinking buddy and chief victim of my off-piste pork and beans based chalet cuisine, Wilf.
On the same footskis I have broken the law and found myself in the places where skibikes are forbidden. I have slid on a never ending sheet of hard snow/ice for what seemed like all eternity and lived to tell the tale; all in the cause of the "Wilf Method" of skibiker cross-training that makes you ride your skibike as if possessed by demons.
I have played with an accomplished extreme pegging skibiker and we have stopped on the mountainside and laughed with all the joy of innocents and imbeciles; a skibiker brotherhood united in the pursuit of a dazzling alpine dream with handlebars and a grin that will split your lips in the rarefied atmosphere.
To the many nameless individuals who have expressed an interest in skibiking and accepted my card on the piste; especially those to whom I have marched roughshod over your noble French language in stinky ski boots, "Je M'excuse Mes Copains".
To the old chap hitch hiker who only wants to stay in his provincial village without a proper bus service "Bon Chance" and to the bloke in Mollesuiz with a busted Achile's Tendon who needed to get to the hospital in Annemasse "Bon Sante".
To the operatives of the Remontees Mechaniques who made sure I was safe and occasionally bent the rules a little to get me to the top of the hill. Merci Mille Fois und Ville Danke.
Lastly behind the scenes; I thank the person who sponsored, without limitation, my habitation in Geneva.
I have been sagely counselled by the "Port Out Starboard Home" big brainers, shown the way by the "Skibikers on the Piste", given the green light by the SAGB and the AFVS and most recently lifted high by the once underground skibike builders of the UK who are now emerging from their closets no longer to be shamed to live the same dream.
And for those about to rock, I salute you!