Countin' the years

Today I returned to the Alps for a day of shredding with friends. I hopped on a charter bus at 4:45 am to get there. Killer deal, totally affordable and convenient. Well, these slopes were covered in those pull lifts. They are called téléski. In all my years snowboarding, I've only been on them twice. It got me thinking "how many years have I been riding?" I counted. 17 years. Holy cow. These téléski lifts were brutal. I'll begin by reminiscing about my first experiences using these.

It was my first day on a snowboard, I was eight. The day before, I had been on skis. But I wanted to snowboard like my brothers, so I insisted. My oldest brother was a lifty at a mountain in our vacation spot, so he was more than happy to teach his baby sister. I remember he took me to the bunny slope and that's where those pull lifts tend to dominate in the states. (Must be why I'm not accustomed to them.) Naturally, I fell off the lift. My bro was behind me on the lift and I remember he ran me over with his board. It hurt, I cried. Honestly, that's one of my few memories of the trials and tribulations of learning.

Téléski lift. Not me, and I didn't take this photo.