Intermediate standard...maybe

After attempting to fit in with the locals with ten days of facial hair growth, my beard is patchy and scruffy and it’s time to shave (I’m beginning to look like an adolescent Mr Twit). Clean-shaven I head out for another lesson, this time in the intermediate class, instructed by Rachel.

We start with a warm up on a green run so Rachel can assess our standards (I’ve found that I’m rubbish until about the third run of the morning). Satisfied that I’m of intermediate ability she then takes us down some steeper blue runs, followed by a small mogul run. My somewhat unorthodox approach traversing the moguls leads Rachel to question her decision to qualify me to the intermediate class. But once clear of the bumps I alleviate Rachel's fears with some slightly more confident turns.

During the afternoon a ski instructor asks me to ride the chairlift with one of their 5 year old students, Martin (clearly she hadn't witnessed my ineptitude). Whilst on the chairlift Martin ignores my pearls of wisdom on the art of dismounting safely and instead entertains himself by scraping snow off the top of my snowboard. Until I notice that this is scratching up my new board, so I push Martin off the chairlift. (Just joking...With assistance from me, Martin dismounts the chairlift fine)

Now that the thanksgiving holidays have passed the mountain is far less congested, making riding a little less stressful. All we need now is a snow dump...

Chairlift incompetence

I lack the ability to dismount chairlifts. Given that only one foot is strapped to your board, you must control your dismount on just your leading leg, leaving your trailing leg unattached. Add to this a steep descent at the exit and the stress of promptly clearing the path for passengers behind me and I fall almost everytime, rolling ungracefully out of the path of the steady stream of ensuing skiers/riders.

I’ve now had three lessons and am confidently linking turns (once I escape the chairlift). The next step is to learn riding switch (leading with my right leg, rather than my left) which, I’m told, will help me to perform ‘sick tricks’. However, the thanksgiving holiday is congesting the slopes which is making riding difficult and a bit dangerous so the nauseating manoeuvres will probably have to wait until after this weekend.

I take the opportunity away from the mountain to explore the town of Breckenridge. Main street, Breckenridge comprises quaint clothing boutiques, independent cafes/restaurants and ski/snowboard rental outlets. The Breckenridge shopkeepers and locals are extremely affable and there is a relaxed pace of life. It feels like it’d be a great place to live and the lodges are only around $2.5m (c £1.5m). Time to start saving.

Anyway, back to my thanksgiving beef fajita...

Popping ollies and avoiding oysters

It's now over two weeks since leaving Lloyds and I question how I have ended up on a bus in the Rocky mountains about to embark on a snowboarding lesson at Breckenridge. Where was the rational, predictable Ian when I made the decision to quit my job and spend 5 months snowboarding? I’ve been here for two days and am feeling a little jet-lagged and possibly suffering with the ‘altitude sickness’ that the Coloradoan, sat next to me on the plane, warned me about. Helpfully she also advised I tip between 10% and 20%, always tip in bars and avoid the local delicacy known as ‘Rocky mountain oysters’ (which are not oysters).

I arrive late for my lesson but with a typically snowboarding attitude the instructor is nonchalant. After a day of riding the green slope and confidently linking my turns, the instructor encourages me to ‘pop an ollie’ (effectively this means doing a jump). He explains the technique and I manage to pop slightly less than one inch of air. Shaun White needn’t be concerned.