Back track 24 hours earlier, Parker White, Chris Logan and myself are giving the locals a show on the dance floor in Champery, Switzerland at “The Crevase”.  The bar owner had graced us with not only his presence but drinks on the house, it was time to celebrate… something our “one drink then go to bed party” did not recognize.  Nor did we recognize the clock that read 4 a.m. It was time to leave the bar, catch a train at 6 a.m.  Fuck it, I’ll sleep when I die… right?

It’s now 7:30 a.m, we are approaching Lausanne, a train conductor is talking to me.  Parker is studying a foreign stain on the sleeve of his hoody… “It smells like puke?”.  The greased up, ski bum whom prides himself with not washing his hair in two years is complaining about puke on his sleeve? Chris quickly confirms the puking incident that occurred outside the bar on the way home.

“You need ticket!”  Oh ya, the conductor.  I had none of the sort. Fuck off man… I mean sure I’ll get one at the next stop.  Blood shot eyes, evil smells, and alcohol still pumping in our veins, this man was dealing with american swine, the best of the best among european tourists.  In hindsight I would commend the gentleman for his patience.

We did not know at the time that the next train, the one we were about to miss would unravel our day of travel plans and dump us in  a country we did not know existed, make us miss every connection we planned on taking, and eventually into the misguided van of an austrian high school graduate…

Liechtenstein, the smallest country in the world.  Once a year they host “carnival”. Everyone dresses up like some acid freak party and goes to the middle of town all day to light off fireworks, and drink… something we were familiar with… welcome home boyz, where is your costume you american freaks?

The taxi driver meant us no harm, he was the guy who volunteered to drive all the way to pick us up at 11 pm… we had gotten close to our destination but still not close enough.  The drive began as any other. Through the city, into the country, then into the ski town… then out of the ski town, and onto some side street.  The street lights had long been gone, a plow had not touched the road in a day or so and mother nature was blessing us with lots of fresh…

We haphazardly fitted some chains to the front tires in the blizzard with freezing bare fingers, and little to no light.  ”We go a few meters then check” sound good to me just get my ass to bed.  A few meters concluded with a mess of chain, and plastic wrapped around both tires in some fucked up fashion… obviously we had not put them on properly.  The driver refused to back up to a flat spot 100 feet back on the road for fear of not being able to stop.  Without backing up the chains remained mangled and our night was looking more and more like some Donner Party remix. Time to take matters into our own hands.

I asked the driver if I could back up the vinto.  I did, and we got the chains off.  I then proceeded to back up to the fatal flat spot, which happened to be a perfect spot to put chains on properly.  Now we are set.  ”I’ll drive” I tell him.  I had watched him gingerly burn the clutch out on his previous few meter stretch with the chains” I wasn’t going to risk my night on him anymore, plus he had just finished off half a pack of cigs and was well on his way to the end… time to shit or get off the pot, and I needed to shit, or go to bed. You smoke I’ll drive. My dad insisted that I learn to drive a stick when I was 15.  I did, and that night I was thankful for having it, because I got us up that fucking hill and to our lodging that happens to be halfway up the ski area.  Our road was a maintenance road used to service the top of the base lift at Flauchenwinkl.

We awoke to this and are not drunk anymore…

Lines!!!

that’s my track on the left…

This one I built myself…

Our approach included some chuted Couloir skiing… here parker gets deep and dirty under the cavernas granite wall in the Col de Cou.

We happened to run into a few Level 1 fans in the tram line the other morning.  After some high fives, some broken english, and work with a sharpie we parted ways.

As it turned out the two swiss locals found us building yet another massive wedge… As Berman approached them to make sure their plans did not include making turns within the vicinity of the landing, they quickly busted out their shovels and called over “can we help?” (the two in the red, pictured above)

The finished product… shots had, another cow slaughtered, next please?

This area felt like a different planet… huge trees, i called it sherwood forest… don’t ask why

Freedle scopes potential angles for the Pillow fight

Down the barrel on a greaser

Area 69… anyone wanna party?

The Dock, just down the street from our shack…

This line is called “the spine of god” proudly proclaimed by our guide as one of the more premier lines in the area.  Here Freedle captures the action as P white takes “her” for a ride.

It happens our good friends from Oakley were in town. Dan Treadway, Greg Strokes, and Blake Jorgenson, join us for some apre…

This zone was insanely good to us…

enough said… shopping in Nelson

We have now arrived in Revelstoke and plan on getting after some more goods here in BC… winter carries on in Canada and I don’t plan on leaving any time soon. Anyone know how to get a Canadian citizenship?