Photo courtesy of R de Waal

I got off the airplane tired, (Who would have guessed that?) met Rouviere, and tried the whole coherent conversation thing. Did not go that well. As we drove to their home in San Jose she told me the plan was that we drive to Lake Tahoe that same afternoon. Fine by me. At the house I managed to not only stay awake, but also have a bath, and pack out any stuff not needed at Tahoe.

On the way I fell asleep every once in a while, and did not really bother any longer with the coherent thing. The whole drive was like the takeoff at Heathrow, I saw we were building up speed for takeoff, and the next I saw we were at cruising altitude getting cute drinks. We stopped at Carls Jr (A fast food burger place) for dinner, and I got the biggest they had since I was starving. Burger and fries OK, but fortunately you can refill your drink before you leave. The thing only holds about a litre or more. Arriving at Tahoe, Rouviere rushed to switch on the heating, I just identified my bed, and used it.

The next morning I met Paul, a friend of Ben and Rouviere working with Ben. Since Rouviere had the flu, Ben, Paul and myself went skiing at North Star at Tahoe, a nearby ski resort. Trying to get there in time for the 10 O'clock lesson for me, we were stuck in the weirdest traffic jam I ever saw, in the middle of nowhere. At the time I got the equipment hired, lift and lesson ticket bought, I missed the 12 O'clock session and had to wait for the 2 O'clock.

After some lunch with Ben and Paul, I bravely set forth for my lesson. We were assembled on a flat piece of land, with a slight hollow in the middle. Ideal for learning. After we got the basics here, we were moved to the bunny slope. AKA Killer bunny slope. When I proved beyond a reasonable doubt that I cannot in any way ski, the lesson, and the day, was over. We had drinks at the lodge, and rode the gondola down.

Sunday we went to Diamond peak, right opposite Ben and Rouviere’s condo. I got my stuff a lot faster, and went off to practice my total lack of skill and knowledge.

On the local bunny slope I practiced my falling, getting on and off those cool ski lifts, and looking panicky. Great stuff. Next, the big, bad, green slope, called 'Lodgepole'. Rumoured to be the easiest, after the bunny slope. As I got on the lift, I crossed the point of no return. If you go up, you have to ski down. Or tumble.

The problem with skiing is that you take these slick flat pieces of wood, metal, composites or whatever, coat them with wax to make them go faster, then strap them to your feet wearing boots that cannot bend at the ankle (making you walk around like Robocop when you have no skis on), and stand on ice with it.

No problem you say, not much difference to ice-skating or roller blades? O really. Did you start learning those on a steep down hill? (Some skiers might differ from my opinion of steep.) The problem is that you need to actively do something not to go faster. Something I did not know how to do.

You begin nice and slow. With the skis in a nice wedge shape, as taught. Nice boy. The wedge shape does all kinds of cool things. Like slow you down. If you are on an incline barely steeper than a total flat piece of land. Try it on any other hill, and you go faster and faster. At some point you realize that it would be a good idea to miss those little kids skiing al over the place. And the people. Definitely the trees. You start to mutter curses. More speed. No more muttering, only curses.

Thankfully, you hear kids making similar noises, until you realize they are not cursing, the little buggers are singing. More speed. At this time you are not the only person looking a bit panicky, the other people do not like the sonic boom. You have long forgotten what it feels like to be in control of simple things like your direction and speed. And the faster you go, the less control you have. You lean more and more backwards, till it looks like your skis are pulling you downhill all the time. Feels like that as well.

But the more you lean backwards, the less control you have. Not that you had much to lose. Until the options are hitting a tree at about Mach two, or fall down.

I always took option two. Well, I have to admit, sometimes it just happened. OK, most of the time. Lying on the snow, my first thought always was I that finally got myself under about 2 meters of it. But then I realized my glasses simply were covered with the stuff. Next realization is that not only does it hurt to split like a gymnast, but that I just did it. After I find my skis, put them back on, and start again.

After a run or two down the green slope, I get word that lunch will be at the Snowflake lodge. Some way up the mountain. But food calls, so I take the lift. Here I sit with Ben, Paul and Rouviere, who has now joined us, for a while and rest. I am assigned the call sign 'B52', for the number of innocent people left strewn in my wake. They escort me down the 'Ridge run' and 'Freeway' slopes. Supposedly more difficult that Lodgepole, but I manage not to fall, but I would not say I was in full control.

As I take Lodgepole to the bottom, things start going haywire again. I spend the rest of the afternoon practicing there, and apart from a not too happy ankle and knee, do not break anything. After one particularly incredible wipeout, I take a break at the bottom. Contemplating life and general insane acts like anything to do with snow, I feeling something cold on the inside of my ski jacket, and remove a fist-sized lump of snow. Funny what happens when you hit snow at speed.

We call it a day after drinks at the bar. Ben and Paul head back to San Jose, Rouviere and I decide to head back the next day. Monday morning we drove around, eating lunch at Kings beach, and drive to a viewpoint above the lake. I include some of the photos Rouviere took.