Snow, more snow and chains

We spoke too soon. After 3 days of fabulous skiing we thought nothing could go wrong. The skiing was turning out to be the best we had ever done and the pregnant ducks were starting to look a touch more classy and adventurous. All good things come to an end and yesterday our luck ran out. Heavy snow over night, continuing during the morning, had made the roads virtually impassable. So we dug the car out, loaded up and ignored the conditions, or male old git did. Venturing off to the slopes we had to encounter a particularly steep and windy road.
“The car will never make it without the chains on,” nagged the female old git.
“Rubbish, its all down to technique…”
Several minutes later we were attempting to reverse the Mercedes saloon down the hill with traffic sliding all around us, the air blue with curses. “Good job I can’t speak French,” muttered the driver, as tension mounted in the car.
We turned round and headed down the hill towards the main road.
“I really think you should pull into the Chalet to put the chains on…” continued the nagging
“It’ll be alright,” as we slid past our chalet and onto the first serious bend.
An hour and a half later with the car straddled across the road the chains refused to fit round the tyre. (Even a person who knew chains gave up!)
By this time the snow ploughs had started to make some progress in clearing the snow and slush and every time they past all I heard was angry Gallic abuse. Friendly bunch really. I then inched my way down to the main road and back to the chalet where the car stands in a good foot of snow and as useful as a chocolate poker. (We had left our perfectly good Freelander back at home…bloody German cars!)
The landlord turned up as the white knight and gave us a lift to the slopes. Snow was falling and cloud had now enveloped the mountain; there weren’t many people about on the slopes, but we continued on our way to the top, regardless!
Bent double against the wind and our newly acquired goggles misting up we ventured, virtually blind, down the slopes. Within minutes the two white figures sat shivering alone on a chair lift still wondering where everyone had gone. At the top we saw virgin snow: wow, wouldn’t it be fun to ski in that! Undaunted by flat light and thick mist we continued our quest to ski, no matter what. Several skiers did pass us but clearly very experienced…pregnant duck territory had returned. Parallel turns seemed almost impossible as the skies buried themselves into the thick snow.
Eventually two hours later we realised we were a little out of our depth but the long ski back to the village did see some improvement and spirits rose.
‘Let’s try it again,’ cried the gleeful male, happy not to have broken anything. The answer was a withering glance and ‘chocolat chaud’ won the day…

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