Friday was spectacular. I met up with Poleck at 8:15 at the Whistler gondi and we skied Peak to Creek with Adrienne to kick off the day. It was the first time I'd skied with Adrienne, and she just got a pair of B-squads (fat, very stiff, very fast). My Gotamas also like to charge, and Poleck rides a pair of 193 planks (long, stiff, fast), so we were really booking down the freshly groomed runs.
As it turns out, the cat drivers at Whistler have a bit of a sense of humor. The top section of Peak to Creek was fresh cord, so we were flying. There are about 6 steep pitches, punctuated by small flat sections. On a day like Friday, when the run is empty and freshly groomed, there's only one way to ski it. It sounds like this:
"Crrrrrrshrrrrrrshrrrr.....(silence).....Crrrrshrrrshrrrrrrr...(silence)....Chrrrshcrrrrschrrrr"
So that translates to "bigfastturns...airtime....bigfastturns....airtime." Super fun.
Anyway, Poleck was flying, and I mean flying. He came off the last roller and nearly cleared the entire pitch, landing about 40 feet below the lip. Midair, he realized that the lower section of peak to creek was ungroomed, which left him with two unpleasant options: fly straight into the mogul field doing mach chicken, or veer left onto a catwalk. He opted for the latter, and would have suceeded had his bindings not failed, sending him flying off a snowbank and rolling to a stop off the side of the run.
After charging all morning, we took a break for Caesars (the canadian bloody mary--delicious) and lunch at Dustys. After lunch Poleck and Adrienne headed home and I skied the rest of the day alone.
I had been contracted as cab driver to take Helle's parents and brother to the airport for an amount of money that I'm somewhat ashamed to admit (Helle's father insisted on paying me the rate that a cab would charge) so I picked them up from the hotel at 5pm. After running into some horrendous traffic at Lions Gate I got them to the airport hotel around 8pm, said farewell and went to find some asian food. I'd been fantisizing about sushi the whole way down and I was starving. There was a plethora of asian restaurants near the hotel, so I walked into one that looked busy and asked for a table.
Those of you who have been to a hot pot restaurant will probably be laughing at my naivetee right about now, but I was hungry and wanting to try something new. The hostess at the first restaurant told me "Sorry, we have no tables for one." Dejected, I walked back to the street and tried another restaurant, called "Sun Tung Kee" which was slightly less busy. The host looked suprised when I said I was alone (Yeah, I'm a loser, I get it already!) and said "Perhaps you'd like to see the menu before you sit down?" I consented and he led me to a booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant, leaving me with the menu and a lot of questions.
Basically you start by ordering what they call a "soup base." This is served in a giant vat which rests on a boiler in the middle of the table. Then you choose from various entrees which are served raw. These entrees are to be placed in the vat of boiling soup, cooked, and eaten on the spot. Within 5 minutes, I found myself faced with apporximately four liters of boiling soup, an intimidating platter of raw chicken, 12 assorted meatballs of unknown origin, four dipping sauces of unknown constitution, several ladles, a small plate and a pair of chopsticks.
Sweet.
It became quickly obvious why the hotpot restaurant was reuctant to serve singles. It is quite a social affair. After uncerimoniously dumping the meatballs and chicken into the soup vat, I sat in silence and waited for them to cook. It really was an outing suited for the company of the PM and Nat crowd. With someone else to share the hilarity of the situation I might have ventured to order any number of the dishes not containing the words "chicken." Even by my lonesome the experience was quite pleasant. I think the entire restaurant staff felt pity for me, because they all stopped by at least twice during my meal to chat, fill my tea, adjust the temperature of the burner to keep the soup from boiling over, or ask if it was too cold in my lonely corner and would I like the thermostat turned up.
The waitress gave me a business card for the restaurant, telling me to stop by one of the other two locations next time I'm in Hong Kong.
As it turns out, the cat drivers at Whistler have a bit of a sense of humor. The top section of Peak to Creek was fresh cord, so we were flying. There are about 6 steep pitches, punctuated by small flat sections. On a day like Friday, when the run is empty and freshly groomed, there's only one way to ski it. It sounds like this:
"Crrrrrrshrrrrrrshrrrr.....(silence).....Crrrrshrrrshrrrrrrr...(silence)....Chrrrshcrrrrschrrrr"
So that translates to "bigfastturns...airtime....bigfastturns....airtime." Super fun.
Anyway, Poleck was flying, and I mean flying. He came off the last roller and nearly cleared the entire pitch, landing about 40 feet below the lip. Midair, he realized that the lower section of peak to creek was ungroomed, which left him with two unpleasant options: fly straight into the mogul field doing mach chicken, or veer left onto a catwalk. He opted for the latter, and would have suceeded had his bindings not failed, sending him flying off a snowbank and rolling to a stop off the side of the run.
After charging all morning, we took a break for Caesars (the canadian bloody mary--delicious) and lunch at Dustys. After lunch Poleck and Adrienne headed home and I skied the rest of the day alone.
I had been contracted as cab driver to take Helle's parents and brother to the airport for an amount of money that I'm somewhat ashamed to admit (Helle's father insisted on paying me the rate that a cab would charge) so I picked them up from the hotel at 5pm. After running into some horrendous traffic at Lions Gate I got them to the airport hotel around 8pm, said farewell and went to find some asian food. I'd been fantisizing about sushi the whole way down and I was starving. There was a plethora of asian restaurants near the hotel, so I walked into one that looked busy and asked for a table.
Those of you who have been to a hot pot restaurant will probably be laughing at my naivetee right about now, but I was hungry and wanting to try something new. The hostess at the first restaurant told me "Sorry, we have no tables for one." Dejected, I walked back to the street and tried another restaurant, called "Sun Tung Kee" which was slightly less busy. The host looked suprised when I said I was alone (Yeah, I'm a loser, I get it already!) and said "Perhaps you'd like to see the menu before you sit down?" I consented and he led me to a booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant, leaving me with the menu and a lot of questions.
Basically you start by ordering what they call a "soup base." This is served in a giant vat which rests on a boiler in the middle of the table. Then you choose from various entrees which are served raw. These entrees are to be placed in the vat of boiling soup, cooked, and eaten on the spot. Within 5 minutes, I found myself faced with apporximately four liters of boiling soup, an intimidating platter of raw chicken, 12 assorted meatballs of unknown origin, four dipping sauces of unknown constitution, several ladles, a small plate and a pair of chopsticks.
Sweet.
It became quickly obvious why the hotpot restaurant was reuctant to serve singles. It is quite a social affair. After uncerimoniously dumping the meatballs and chicken into the soup vat, I sat in silence and waited for them to cook. It really was an outing suited for the company of the PM and Nat crowd. With someone else to share the hilarity of the situation I might have ventured to order any number of the dishes not containing the words "chicken." Even by my lonesome the experience was quite pleasant. I think the entire restaurant staff felt pity for me, because they all stopped by at least twice during my meal to chat, fill my tea, adjust the temperature of the burner to keep the soup from boiling over, or ask if it was too cold in my lonely corner and would I like the thermostat turned up.
The waitress gave me a business card for the restaurant, telling me to stop by one of the other two locations next time I'm in Hong Kong.
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