Pavel, you are so right. The ladies who ski, look at the world in a different light.
So, skiing alone, and going up the gondola, I got talking to a wonderful dutch lady. Her young child was back in
Niederau village, being looked after by her husband, and she was getting to ski the morning. After a few interchanges, we found we had worked for the same ski schools. And so passed a blissful mornings skiing with a most pleasant and very capable lady skier. At the end of the morning, she told me, this was her last run of the day. So, we looked in the eye, each gave a grin, and we punched gloves.
Then, I have mentioned before, about my special second home, the Bichlwirt, a 500-year old place, that is deep in my heart. On the walls are racing certificates, from the lady that runs the Bichlwirt. Every winter, we go skiing together, she just skis. I race. I have never won.
So I thought about this a lot, what could I do? I told her that she was a rubbish skier, because she couldn't turn. I told her to follow me, although I was fairly sure what might coming. For 3/4 of the way down the mountain, I could hear her impatient skis holding back.
Then, she came roaring past, doing the tiniest of turns, don't even think carving, we are talking toe-wrinkling. Even though I went pretty well straight down the fall line, I was left for dead.
At the bottom, she slightly smiled, but I laid into her. "There you are", I said, "that proves it, you couldn't manage one decent turn."
And here my friends is a piece of poetry, by an Austrian, in English.
She said, "I was very modest with my space". One day, I will write a song about that line.
There is a third lady item. The daughter of the lady that runs the Bichlwirt, is shaping up to be faster than the mother. She is eleven/twelve years old.
