SkiFreaks - SkiBumming!

It's a cold, cold, sunny day in the neighbourhood: we're off to Sutton for some weekday, the hell with work and stress, mental health skiing. Traffic is light and the sun pouring in through the car windows tries to deceive. The snow devils dancing off the hoodoos by the side of the road whisper slyly of chill wind. We take no notice of them and their frigid temptations. They will follow us to where we are going. P2 and P3 are crowded. The magic crumpet is ensconced in P5, standing magnificently alone in the virgin snow. The stairs quicken our breath; the last steps burn. Hat less, ears redden.

Crowded lunchroom envelops in average chaos. Boots are moulded to feet with pairs of hands. Fingers must flex. Prepared, we emerge into the icy winter sun, unrecognizably us. The lift carries us to the peak where we skiddle across to Alleghany: slip turn slide carving our way west to chair I. Crisp white ellipses trail us down to the bottom and the double chair. Frost has invaded my vision: a Ra prayer is required. Winter sun conveys his rays to our faces. Nose tip whitens. A temporary effect, soon rectified.

Toes are gelid in boots. A friend's hands dispense the needed warmth: nerves leave one rattled - a held breath soon released. The body's response: a flood of burning heat. Skin vibrates; no-one sees.

Back into the cold; the sun has gilded the tips of the trees with silver and gold. The shadows lengthen. Too fast, the line of skiers thickens: a small mistake is paid for in flushed red. Fatigue takes its toll. A flurry of sparkling crystals suspended in air. A moment passes, unmarked. The chair closes, leaving us bereft. Ullr's warding, no longer needed. The car has waited patiently for us. As the sun descends the unrushing dark chills hands and toes. We are warned. Loaded up, the sun burns through the windshield; trick of light and shadow chased by rusting metal back to the phosphor glow of the city.

We did not bring the snow devils back with us.

A day to remember.