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Published: March 31st 2008
Mammoth
Salt Plains of China Lake.Now, where were we ? Ah yes, Jamie and I had just took off on the bikes for a ride around the harbour and for a bit of variety having ridden the beach route a couple of days earlier with his brother I led us inland to the area of the city that they call downtown. Crossing roads in America is an education in itself, jay walking an offence punishable by fine and it was at one of the many signalled crossing points that we were forced to wait. I turned to check Jamie's location as he pulled up behind me and watched in bemusement as, at the moment his wheels ceased to turn, he very slowly careered to one side.
Unlike his brother he'd elected to wear Phil's cycling shoes which had been hanging seductively by the door since his arrival. Smart, purpose made sneekers which effectively shackle the feet to the pedals courtesy of a complicated fastening mechanism attached to them both. These things are made for speed, for hurtling down smooth concrete purpose made pathways with not so much a hint of a crossing pedestrian and not for negotiating busy city centre streets. When Jamie came to
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Dropping Jamie at the Mall prior to our drive to Mammoth. a halt behind me at yet another set of automobile friendly traffic lights I turned to see him hover ever so briefly before taking the first agonisingly slow tilt of a foot away from the vertical. I suspected nothing amiss. Two feet and I waited for the left foot to leave the pedal and reach for the safety of the ground and then three feet and I could just watch aghast as Jamie, still adopting the head down no nonsense Chris Boardman pose, white knuckles gripping the bars gathered speed on his sideways meet and greet with the concrete. He hit the ground with a sickening thud and if I'd known at that moment that his injuries consisted of just an equal measure of shock and embarassment I'm sure I'd have laughed. But I was genuinely concerned for his well being and was just dismounting to assist when a passing suit attempted to help him to his feet totally oblivious to the fact that man and machine were still, despite Jamie's pleas, as one.
Tuesday marked the end of Jamie's short vacation and his journey home. We dropped him, still nursing a sore shoulder and still bagless due to
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Highway 75 was long, secluded and scenic. the ineptitude of Air France at a mall close to LAX for some last minute shopping and headed off for the long five hour haul into the mountains en route to Mammoth Lakes, a winter sports resort some 300 miles north of Los Angeles nestled high in the Sierra Nevada mountain range and only accessed once outside the city limits via the long, straight and very isolated Highway 75.
After three and a half hours of driving across the outskirts of the barren Mojave Desert, flanking the salt plains of China Lake and passing Edwards Air Base where hundreds of now redundant aeroplanes were tragically laid out to pasture we arrived at the small settlement of Lone Pine, the first sign of civillisation for miles and stopped at a roadside diner for a late lunch. Lone Pine and it's occupants could have been anytown, USA as described so accurately in the books of Bill Bryson. The main street was lined on both sides by single storey clapboard buildings supporting huge advertising billboards promoting everything from sexy lingerie to agricultural farm machinery and the people shuffled around as though a strong winter storm was coming.
Chelsea, or the greasy,
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Highway 75 again. spotty fat girl who introduced herself as such when she handed us a menu was one of the less motivated waitresses I had come across on my trip so far and a quick glance around the room confirmed why. Eating houses in the US, of which it has to be said as a stranger that their abundance renders them much of a muchness, always appear busy regardless of the time of day and this one was no different. But the clientelle had more in common with the cast from 'Waiting For God'. To our left we had three generations of what must have been native american's with Grandma causing Dave and I more than a touch of concern as with each dribbled mouthful of broth her frail head and shoulders lurched closer and closer to the steaming bowl and to our right an elderly confused lady who had taken a full five minutes to zimmer across the floor in her full winter outfit to get to the table in the corner, who greeted Chelsea in a way that suggested she does so every day at precisely the same time and who enquired in a voice so loud you could hear
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And a couple of miles further up. her in the hardware store next door as to the soup of the day.
After a quick sandwich we headed north again, through the small isolated town's of Independence and Bishop which could quite easily have been Lone Pine all over again before the first scatterings of snow appeared on the windscreen, thickening with each mile we passed and by 4.30pm we arrived in Mammoth. There were eight inches of snow on the ground with more falling and it was cold.
Phil love of the piste sees that he rents a motel room for the ski season with friend and former neighbour Doug who had kindly left the heater burning to ensure a welcome arrival. The room was cluttered with ski wear of all shapes and sizes hanging off or draping over every available point, drying coats and towels, two single beds and a double. It was acutely in need of a woman's touch. We had just made ourselves comfortable when the larger than life Douglas, a forty one year old pot smoking ski fanatic returned from the slopes with his previous evening's room mates Steve and Debbie. He burst into the room obviously thrilled with his days
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As we went up the snow came down. efforts on what he described as the perfect snow and before any formal introduction proclaimed with the broadest grin imaginable 'Shit Kirby, I ain't felt this good since I first shot a man'!.
Debbie and Steve, a couple in their mid forties were entertainment too. As Doug and Steve returned outside to help dig a neighbour's vehicle out of a drift she stripped from her wet ski gear down to her vest revealing the most magnificent chest which simply couldn't have possibly been manufactured by mother nature alone, a fact confirmed by Doug later in the evening with the observation that it was 'the best money she'd ever spent'. Dave and I had taken the roll up beds in preparation for a night on the floor and as the three of us headed out for a spot of dinner and a couple of cold ones told Steve and Debbie, who were busy gathering their belongings not to move out on our behalf. 'What, so you can all share my vagina' she called after us.
I was still unsure whether venturing onto the slopes with my creaking knees and three accomplished skiing companions would be a wise proposition but
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Heavier and heavier. Doug's generosity of offering me the loan of his spare equipment and Phil and Dave's reassurances that I would be okay meant that by 8am the following morning I was in the resort's rental rooms being measured for my gear and from there we headed for a spot of breakfast, widely regarded in America as the main meal of the day. I ordered some scrambled egg with ham and was soon presented with a plate overflowing with the stuff. It puzzles me to think how anyone can be productive within a few hours of eating such a meal but at the same time clears up the mystery of why so many of these people are obese.
It was almost twenty nine years to the day since I'd last donned a pair of ski's but the challenge of hurtling down a mountainside would have to wait for now. Before that could be considered I had to negotiate the lift. I managed to manoevre myself into position and we somehow got airbourne, the views from the bench of the surrounding pine covered slopes breathtaking but throughout the journey I couldn't keep from my mind the fact that I still had to
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And then there were three. Warm and content in Mammoth. get off. As we reached alighting point I stood rigid, held my breath and somehow managed to glide slowly to a standstill. I was still quietly congratulating myself when I turned to look down. My God it was steep.
The only possible plus point I could acknowledge through the thick fog of fear that had engulfed me was that the overnight snow would at least reduce the likelihood of me not getting down alive. I recalled the snowplough position and the fact that it was all about weight transfer but other than that my fate was completely in the lap of the Gods. By the time Dave had helped me to my feet for the umpteenth time within a hundred yards of our starting position I was beginning to think this was a bad idea. I felt almost punch drunk, my legs lacking any understanding of what I was trying to tell them and it felt like miracle of biblical proportion when I finally placed my hand on the handrail of the steps to the bar. It was nine thirty in the morning and I was shot.
My feet were sore and my calves burned so we agreed
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Beer Garden I'd rest up for another attempt. Removing the boots was a sensation I have never experienced before, one of complete and absolute relief and I lay on the sofa in front of a roaring fire and drifted into a deep and satisfying sleep. The guys returned after forty five minutes and after a mid morning Gran Marnier I prepared myself for the next assault.
There was a slight improvement, my falls reducing under Dave's watchful eye but at no point did I feel in control of my actions and I had to call 'time out' again. In mid afternoon, with a couple of Mammoth Pale Ale's swilling around in my belly the four of us boarded our lift again and it all somehow started to come together. Hell, I was even enjoying myself despite anayalating a twin legged 'Slow' sign that was blocking my path.
On our final descent of the day I felt confident enough to get out the camera. Phil boarded down and took some shots of Dave and I and then I placed the string between my teeth and very carefully snowploughed down to take some of them. Until now I had paid little or
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Down the hatch. no attention to what was behind me. Everyone seemed competent enough to dodge any obstacle placed in front of them but when I slowly turned for the final time I noticed a roaring, scraping noise closing in from my left. I turned to see an open mouthed, obviously out of control Japanese man heading straight for me. I closed my eyes and waited for impact and the crunch of broken Fibia but he somehow managed to change his course at the last second and crunch into the back of my ski's, only clipping my calves as I collapsed relieved into the snow. When I looked up he was standing over me and I could swear he was smiling, bedecked in his red sun head band and holding his sword above his head but I was dazed and confused. When I finally recovered my senses any anti kamikaze thoughts quickly elapsed. I'd made it.
After a couple of Margerita's in the warmth of the bar we returned to our lodge and at nine thirty, as the snores, grunts and farts of the other three filled the air I switched off the TV and fell into the deepest sleep I have
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The devastation caused by a Bailey's Bomb. ever known. Two best ever's in one day.
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Tank
non-member comment
hows it goin
So you managed to go travelling again then. how you you out for this time and where else you godda go?