It has to be said that we are pretty stoked to have ended up at Turoa for a couple of days skiing on what is their biggest EVER recorded snow-base, currently 4.5m…. or to put a little more emphasis on the statistic…

FOUR POINT FIVE BLOODY METERS OF SNOW!!!

Christ it was good fun these last couple of days, a clear blue sky day mostly on Tuesday, a bit cloudy since then but how the hell can you complain about visibility when you’ve got this friggin awesome snow base underneath the skis. For most north-island skiers its a bloody struggle to get through fresh powder, especially when the entire bloody field is covered in the stuff. Funny tho, it never seems to be a chore to have to get back on your feet and dust off a covering of dry powder. Never ceases to bring a smile to your face, and its a crack-up seeing someone else wipe-out in it and do a disappearing act.

Actually had the day off today, thats what comes with approaching your 5th decade I guess. No more getting up there at 9am every day and skiiing till you drop at 4pm. Christ its great fun, I just love the winter trip rolling around each year. Such a buzz, almost everyone on the mountain is fizzing with excitement, you hear people whooping it up, not coz they’re trying to annoy or impress you, its coz they’re so stoked to be in this amazing alpine environment.

As you can probably pickup, I’m basically having a great break.

Well its all over, the V8 supercars event has been and gone from Hamilton, and thank God coz I really dont think all this drinking during the day for three days malarky is sustainable for old folks like me any more.

What a bloody awesome event!!!

I took Friday off, and being the late starter that I am made my way round to Vike’s by about 11am. He had a pre-poured Rum-n-coke waiting patiently for me, we gargled a couple of those and hit the pavement for the short walk across the bridge to Frankton. Friday was practice day, no racing, but you wouldnt have known it based on the noise on the track and the number of punters in the stands.

Saturday and Sunday were race days, and apart from the well advertised big boy V8 Supercars class there was also a bunch of other awesome support events. NZ V8s, Porsches, Minis, Toyota single seaters, and in between loads of petrol-head targetted entertainment like drag-cars, stunt motorbikes and of course lycra clad grid girls and dancers.

Kym was keen on the GT3 Porches (fast, sexy, expensive to crash) coz Mitre10 Mega sponsors young Daniel Gaunt who did well finishing in the top 10 in all three races over the weekend with a respectable 3rd-overall for the event.

I was keener on the Grid-girls. I forgot to take my binoculars on Saturday but put them to good use on Sunday as far as critiquing the outfits and haircuts the girls were presenting. Vike, Woodster and I took a number of glancing blows from Kym when caught out being less than subtle. Apparently grunting and poking each other in the ribs and pointing with one hand while holding binos with the other is not acceptable adult behavior.

When it was all over on Sunday night I actually felt kinda bummed out, like when you leave a multi-day music festival, or head home from a great holiday or someit. But the thing that picked me up again was planning how to tackle the event next year when it rolls back into town. One dilemma is deciding whether or not to tear yourself away from the track action to check out the stalls, demos and stuff outside the racing itself. No regrets how time was split this year, but may check out more of the off-track action next year.

Like most lads growing up in NZ at the time I played Rugby as a kid. At primary school we charged about in bare feet all through winter skating across thick frost with feet so numb you couldn’t feel them. At intermediate age and for the 1st couple of years of high-school I played club-rugby for Ohaupo.

For one reason or another (mostly alcohol and selfish leisure time pursuits) by the time I left school I just kinda lost interest in getting up early on the weekends, practising in the dark in the cold winter, and sliding about in the mud getting dirty and injured.

And in the decades since I last played a game (actually I did play a few in London in the early 90′s) I just haven’t really felt the tug or need to identify as strongly with a sport that seems to obsess so many that don’t even play the bloody thing.

Don’t get me wrong (actually feel free if you must) but I do love to watch a good test match. I get along to a few NPC and Super-whatevers a season, and I scream and yell along with mates in sheds and lounge-rooms every month or so.

It’s just that… I honestly couldn’t give more than a couple of shits about the All Blacks losing the world cup.

I’m not disappointed in the players especially, I don’t hate the French, I don’t want to kill the ref, I don’t care whether the coaches (whoever they are) resign or get sacked, I don’t care about rotation, etc etc etc…

This now means of course that I will have to wear a titanium-strengthened cod-piece everywhere I go in Hamilton in case I get kicked in the nuts (yes Woody/Vike, I’m on to you!!!).

But so be it. Life goes on for Christ’s sake.