The Stowe Derby - Toll Roadkill

Below is Bill Holland's tale of the Stowe Derby:

Toll Roadkill -

That pretty much describes what became of me halfway through the screaming downhill section during the classic portion of this year's Derby. The skate race went about as well as it ever has, given the absence of anyone to draft during the bike path section. I had rocket skis thanks to the harmonic convergence of high humidity, warm temps, and the discovery of some spray pure fluoro I'd forgotten I purchased (wow can that stuff make a difference!). Though the tracks were squirrely, the surface was moist granular, allowing me to finish two minutes faster than last year, albeit one place lower (73rd).

 

Anyway, after taking the chairlift back to the summit where I savored the sunny skis, low-30s temps, and windless conditions, the classic race got off to another fast start, the waxless skis not seeming to slow me down a bit. Then I allowed myself to get frustrated that the guy in front of me navigating the turns faster than I. Instead of taking the turns high and inside so as to maintain as straight a line as possible--my strategy--I noticed that was swinging off to the side of the trail that had the upcoming turn, swooping wide to the opposite side, then cruising round the bend in this very fluid manner.

 

I was probably going 35 mph when I decided to experiment with this untested approach. The moment I did,  it was as though a giant hand came down and sent me sprawling across the trail, hitting the right side of my head in the process on hard-packed powder. The impact knocked me unconscious, sent blood spurting out of my nose, and either broke or cracked a few ribs underneath my right arm.

 

The next thing I knew, a ski patrol guy was looking down on me and reassuring me the sled would come around to get in just a few minutes. I staggered around trying to get off the trail as skier after skier slowed down to ask if they could help. I waved them off until the tobaggon came around, and the patrol guy started putting me through the usual paces: name, number of fingers held in front of me, address, phone number, all that stuff.

 

The ride down went smoothly as did the siren-accompanied ride to the hospital where they leaned quite heavily on me to get a CAT scan despite the fact that I had no sleepiness, headaches, or dizziness. That whole portion of the ordeal was much tougher on Grace than on me, as the waiting room attendant refused to disclose to her my status until the paperwork came through--an agonizing 20 minutes from the time she and our daughters arrived.

 

Anyway, after a couple of rocky days and nights sitting propped up in bed, I found I could move around the house with increasing ease. Friday I went for a hike, yesterday I skied w/o poles, and today I skied with some non-aggressive poling. Provided things keep progressing, I'm hoping to make it to the Mt. Washington Cup next Sunday.

 

See you all then. And if you ever do the Derby, bringing along a bike helmet might not be a bad idea. Dare to be a dork! I sure won't hesitate to, although next year I'm thinking I might do the Dixville Notch race instead.