The trip to St. Cergue was easy, an express train to Nyon (the next town over) and then a local cog train up the mountain to the village. After getting off one stop to early -- not our fault for once, bad info on a website -- we got to the desired outpost to begin our ski day.
Oh, but not so fast. After getting fitted for gear at a one-room rental shop (little more than an 8x8 shack next to a local rail stop renting Nordic skis and kids sleds), we find out they don't take credit cards and we were woefully short on cash. Merde.
Well, true to Swiss hospitality, the gentleman running the operation called his wife to come pick up one of us and take us back to the town we first stopped in because the other outlet had a card swipe. 30 minutes later, we were off.
As noted, the day was sunny and the temp was just at freezing, and so Steve dressed as he would for downhill - longjohns, fleece, shell exterior, the works. And it turned out to be just a terrible, horrible idea. Just awful. Invading Russia in winter bad.
You see, Steve forgot everything he ever experienced cross country skiing, particularly the part about sweating like a pig. It seemed like he was stopping every hundred yards to take something else off - probably looking like Ned Braden in the final scene of "Slapshot." Jaren, on the other hand, had dressed far more appropriately and was far more equipped to handle the task.
Jaren making good time.
More than half that gear will be coming off in the next five minutes.
Did we mention the first couple of kilometers were uphill? Oh yeah, aerobic madness. Now don't think we weren't having fun -- it was an absolute blast and the scenery was fantastic -- but dragging ourselves, our extra gear and every croissant we'd had for six months up a hill was no small feat.
Things leveled out, we were able to make some good distance and even got a bit of downhill on our way 'round the mountain. But wouldn't you know it, more hill. And look, its steeper! Ice! Damn it.
But we did it, neither willing to let the day go to waste (or willing to let one have the satisfaction of seeing the other give up) and after 25 minutes of straight climbing, we were soaking with sweat and ready for a break. Luckily, the top of the hill featured some wonderful vistas in the sun, which made the miserable climb worth it.
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Back down and then it was on to a good bit of flat land, allowing us to stretch out a bit and hit some good strides. Jaren told Steve her inner monologue was focused on perfecting form, thinking about how nice the experience was and fondly remembering skiing on Liberty Lake as a kid. Steve told Jaren he was trying to figure out if he knew enough French to tell the doctor someone had filled his lungs with karosene and lit them on fire (turns out he doesn't).
We skied for a couple more hours until the sun started to set. Fun in the sun and snow indeed.
Of course, come the next morning, we were both nursing sore muscles we forgot we had. Totally worth it though.
1 comment:
As always, tres jolie! So did Steve leave a trail of clothes as you two climbed the hill?
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