Watching downhill

It was a beatuiful morning; clear blue sky, but cold and windy. We walked from the car to the lift, carrying our skis on the shoulder. Little Boy lagged behind. I turned around.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting my skis on.”
“Not yet”, I said, “we take the gondola.”
“No, we go by the chair lift. The line for the gondola is too long”, said Little Boy.

We went by the double-quad chair lift, shivering in the cold wind, 10 meters above ground. We looked down on the race course below, where lots of people were working. The course crew mounted double and triple safety nets on both sides. The TV crew rigged camera towers along the course.
“What’s going on?” asked Little Boy
“There’s a World-Cup downhill race next weekend.”
“Can we watch it?”
“No, we’re going home on Thursday. We can watch it on TV.”

I’ve seen pro downhill live only once. It was the World Championship in Beaver Creek, in the famous Birds of Prey course, more than ten years ago, when we lived in Colorado. We were down on the race arena. The racers came down the last hang at 120 km (75miles) per hour before crossing the finish line. It took less than 3 seconds. Then we waited a minute or two for the next one.

“Can’t we just stay a few more days?” asked Little Boy.
“No. I’m teaching Friday morning. Maybe we can watch some of the practise tomorrow”
“I want to see the race.” Little Boy was disappointed.

“Watching downhill live is just boring”, I said, “It’s best on TV” >:)

(When we approached the top lift station, my face felt stiff in the cold wind. I took off my right glove, just for a few seconds. I snatched the camera from my pocket, and was barely able to take the picture above, before my hand froze to ice.)