Before we knew it we had wasted several hours of precious time.

But when one is this good, you really ought to share the beauty of what humans can do in a place like the Dolomites.

This is Karl Unterkircher skiing in the Dolomite’s Sella Group – it is perfect.  Karl was tragically killed last summer in the Himalaya. It is good to know he lived a passionate life.

If you enjoy backcountry skiing where you feel as if your being chased, and you are never allowed to stop and rest, I have just the sport for you. Euro ski rando racing.

I have been talking about the Tour de Sas for the last week because I was excited to try this sport and much of my recent training has been focused on surviving what I knew would be a fast and competitive event. It was. Additionally, the race is 20 minutes right up the valley from where we live, so it is a local event.

From the morning start in Alta Badia, where AC/DC’s Highway to Hell was blaring, to four hours later when I crossed the finish line, my heart rate rarely dropped below 170. Charging up the climbs, trying to pass outside the track, frantic transitions (skins on/skins off) and insanely fast descents (confirmed, no turning) all characterize this sport.

It was obvious it was going to be a hard day when, 5 minutes into the race, I checked my heart rate and saw I had already burnt 92 calories. This actually gave me some number crunching to do in anticipation of the post race pasta feed. Just how much pasta is 4000 calories anyway?

Overall, a brilliant experience, to say I loved it is an understatement. I have some new visuals in my head; skiing down from the San Antonio at frightening speed with ridiculously soft ski boots on, out of the corners of my eyes, both sides, I see cartwheeling humans. I was hanging on for dear life as my skis were pointed straight to the bottom and my body was getting tossed around in the chopped up powder. Speaking of which, how very odd to ski great snow and NOT make turns, rather to ski the slop because it is faster.

The finish was a blessing for more than just getting to stop. I was able to seek a new song, other than Highway to Hell, to have in my head. My time, 4 hours, 118th out of 290. I am happy. The winner…? 2:48. Amazing to think of the speed the leaders maintained. So inspiring. I have some serious learning to do.

Many thanks to the organizers; Daniele, Paolo, Andrea and the always wonderful (and our partner) Igor Tavella – for the cushy hotel room and massively tasty calorie packed dinner. And next year I will be back, complete with lycra suit.

Janine was on hand to make some snaps from the event: The 2009 Tour de Sas

Conditions are perfect for a ski rando race and now there are almost 300 participants signed up. This is my first Rando Race in Europe, I am intimidated and excited at the same time. Still not owning a one-piece lycra suit leaves me with a sense of inadequacy and fear for the fashion ‘faux pas’ I may commit. I am sure this will change for the next race.

I carried only what I will carry on race day with the exception of a point and shoot camera and iPhone, for Twittering… A photo gallery is up with snaps documenting our day. I may be a professional photographer, but with a point and shoot, shooting blindly with no viewer, and being “on the move” – this is not a good representation of our work – it is for fun and to share the experience with others.

So – The Tour de Sas Course

As the Tour de Sas fast approaches Saturday 21 February – I have been on the course twice to have a little look at the terrain and conditions.

For those in the Dolomites, one thing is obvious – there is a ton of snow up high but given the conditions, not a lot of tracks have been laid down. But with good weather forecasted all this week prior to race day, things should settle in for Saturday.

Three days ago, I went on the course with Igor Tavella and two of the race organisers, Paolo and Daniele, to lay tracks and flag the second half of the loop. Igor and Paolo took some snaps.

Yesterday I was back with Janine, Andi, Matthias and Juergen for another look only to experience the coldest weather of the year. Unfortunately, it was a day for teaching the Italians the word “Sastrugi”. Biting cold wind and grim, wind scoured terrain had us turn tails and head for coffee and baked things. Luckily, once back into the trees we were rewarded with powder skiing to the car.

Surely this was meant to be spread around as the email forwarded from a friend came in while I was in the backcountry, and I had my iPhone in my pocket, on, right next to my beacon. This is for anyone using a mobile phone in the mountains while skiing.

Please read and spread the info !! Click Here.

Thanks…

“Buon Giorno”, I looked up from my feet to see the “Nonno Vigilante” (Supervising Grandfather) standing beneath an awning. He is responsible for getting school kids safely across the street, it may be Saturday but kids are off to school. I made my salutations and went back to staring at my feet as they careened around on the icy walk.

Minutes later I was safely off the ice and cruising on skis through the field behind our house. My goal, ski rando race training on piste behind the house. 1400 meters up. Arriving at the parking lot, a group was developing, the biggest I have seen. One piece lycra suits, lots of long, muscular legs and little chatter. Cold, dark, wet and intimidated is what I felt so I cruised through muttering hellos, I knew I wouldn’t be alone for long. Sure enough, at the first steep section they swarmed me. I jumped on as if it were the peloton, feeling natural sitting on wheels (ski tails in this case).

Up, up, up. Abundant and impressively large snowflakes were piling up on my shoulders and head, the sound of breathing all around. The feeling was back, this is what I live for, home, amongst my people. Here, the sports I value are mainstream while in America they are fringe, oddball, and best left not mentioned.

90 minutes later, as we approached the top our group was engulfed in thick clouds and swirling snow, visibility a thing of the past. Instead of continuing up the lower angled normal piste, the group veered off to the “diretissima”, a steep shot straight to the gondola station. This is where I said my goodbyes with only rear ends to wave to, not by choice but out of concern for dropping dead. No matter how fit you feel you are here, there is always some grandfather more than willing to remind you of what “fit” really means.

Making my way up, alone, it hit me. Not any life revelation or realization, not a skier, but the smell of the restaurant preparing lunch. Garlic, tomato sauce, bready things and basil. Red, white and green just like the flag. Puttering along in the clouds, frozen solid hair, and quite ready for a descent, all I could think of was the food I would not be enjoying as I had zero Euros on board.

The top, no sight of the group, wind ripping now, freezing, skins off, goggles and jacket on, time to drop to my home. Bliss.

…………Fuchs, this is for you.