Saturday, March 24, 2012
How to survive the most dangerous ski race on earth: there's a goodchance of bodily harm at La Grave, France's Derby de la Meije
Tomorrow's race, Le Derby de la Meije, against more than 1,000 skiers, snowboarders, monoskiers, telemarkers--and the sketchy few using gear built in their own garages--goes down at France's La Grave, the scariest ski resort I have ever seen. We will compete in heats of 10, staggered 90 seconds apart, a civilized way to race. The rest of the event, however, is unconventional. The start of this 6,890-vertical-foot dash to the valley floor is smooth, packed snow, but only for about 300 feet. Then it quickly becomes a bouillabaisse of rocks, moguls, cliffs, and glacial ice. Avalanches and icefall are common. But the route is my call: I can ski any line on the mountain. The first one to the bottom wins, regardless of equipment.
Simple. Only La Grave doesn't have an easy way down. Since French ski mountaineer Sylvain Admirat first held the Derby on March 17, 1989 (attracting 63 participants), the mountain has averaged about one death per year.
I've heard that some participants race drunk Afraid of a life-ending miscalculation en route, I choose to do my drinking the night before. The Derby, after all, is a four-day festival of skiing, parties, and unmitigated lunacy that may or may not involve French hip-hop. I find all of it at the Bar a Mouffle, which isn't a bar per se. It's what the English call a caravan, a dumpy metal camper normally towed behind a grumbling station wagon. But this is France. The caravan has been styled with a Gallic suaveness. A DJ booth, tiny lounge, and bar have been squeezed into the old RV, and a rowdy crowd smokes, drinks, and babbles in different languages. Sure enough, French rap booms through the speakers. I spot my European competition, all born skis-on-feet Tomorrow they will be so full of Gitanes smoke and confidence that it's hard to imagine beating even one of them to the bottom. There's nothing to do but surrender prematurely, order another vin rouge, and continue massacring the French language to anyone who will listen.
The next morning, hundreds of competitors meet at the gondola to begin the journey to the start zone at the top of La Grave's Girose Glader. There are skiers in costumes, serious guys wearing game faces, and monoskiers in speed suits. I stuff myself into a gondola with five other fools and we head to the top. None of us speaks. The cabin is awash with fear.
The goal of the Derby is, of course, to be fast But the terrain requires a certain level of caution. I spent the last two days scouting for a smooth line. Would it be faster to take a longer way down to avoid the moguls and rocks? Or is the direct route--a bone-rattling, fall-and-you're-hospitalized line--the surest road to glory?
I'm still debating as I arrive at the start. Not good. Six trois trois. I wish those next to me good luck, and then the gun sounds. Almost immediately I'm at the back of my heat. I draft, tuck, and hang on, and pass the others during a long, flat section on the Girose. As I cross the flats and reach the steeps, my strategy crumbles.
I chatter across moguls, arms flailing. A rock rips the edge out of my ski; I nearly hit three people skiing inside some sort of group spaceship costume. Then I jump off a huge ice bulge that I'd planned to avoid. I find my knees up around my ears, and then, before I even realize where I am, I'm neck-and-neck with another competitor, tucking through the finish, legs burning, lungs gasping, and heart thumping. Total time from top to bottom? Eleven minutes, 26 seconds. Good enough for 275 out of l,000.
At the finish, spectators and competitors lounge around in T-shirts and bikinis in the spring weather. A local foists steaming cups of mulled wine on everyone wearing a racer's bib. I peel off my jacket, collapse on a sunny bonder, and watch. Nearly an hour later, racers are still coming down. When the spaceship crosses the line, it elicits huge applause.
I've known all along that the Derby is not about winning. The crowd's reaction to the spaceship confirms it. But when Frenchman Nicolas Anthonioz comes through with the winning time of six minutes, two seconds, it suddenly becomes about taking two minutes off my time and cracking the top 100 next year.
THREE DOMESTIC DERBIES
You don't have to go all the way to France to get run over by skiers dressed as a spaceship.
SILVER BELT BANZAI, SUGAR BOWL, CALIFORNIA, MARCH 13-14
In six-skier heats, Banzai racers shoot down Sugar Bowl's Silver Belt Gully and the fastest time wins. Last year, former World Cup racer and current ski-cross jockey Daron Rahlves won the men's field, and his sister, Shannon, took the women's race. If Rahlves is still resting after the Winter Games, the field should be wide open. Practice strategic hip checks beforehand.
AL JOHNSON MEMORIAL, CRESTED BUTTE, COLORADO, MARCH 21
Named after a rugged 19th-century mailman, the AJ is a telemark uphill-downhill race through some of Crested Butte's roughest terrain. Costumes are highly encouraged, if not mandatory. There's a good chance you'll be skiing next to a hamburger or Shaft. The race is notoriously brutal on gear. Racers must finish with all of their equipment, even if it means carrying battered skis across the finish line.
TUCKERMAN INFERNO, MADISON, NEW HAMPSHIRE, APRIL 16-18
The Inferno is more than a ski race. Competitors run, kayak, and bike their way around Mount Washington. The last leg is a ski over the headwall and down Tuckerman Ravine, New England's classic steep-skiing test piece. The real challenge is avoiding the hordes who converge halfway down the bowl at Lunch Rocks to heckle, drink beers, and sled.--HEATHER HANSMAN
Winter, Tom. "How to survive the most dangerous ski race on earth: there's a good chance of bodily harm at La Grave, France's Derby de la Meije." Skiing Feb.-Mar. 2010: 16+. Physical Therapy and Sports Medicine Collection. Web. 24 Mar. 2012.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A218814622