Today is blog action day and this years focus is climate change, so I’m doing my little bit. Hopefully climate change is on the mind of every traveler. We play a part in making climate change happen, and we also need to be aware of how the world is changing as we make our travel plans.
I’ve been on 24 flights this year – and that’s likely to get up to 30 by the end of the year. Heck, I’m flying tomorrow. Though it breaks my heart to say that I should travel less this coming year, I know that’s the biggest chunk of my carbon foot print and if I’m going to honestly do anything about climate change, then cutting back on the number of flights I take is the first step. So I’m going to to do even better than the 10:10 pledge to reduce my footprint by 10% in 2010. I’m going to cut my impact by at least 25%. I’m going to do this by trying to keep my number of flights down to around 15-20 in 2010, and ride my bike to and from work at least four days every week.
So what, my fellow intrepid travelers, are you going to do?
If watching this doesn’t scare you off of backcountry skiing for a little while then I don’t know what will. I love cruising around off-piste, but damned if I don’t get myself the best avalanche gear money can buy before I get any more adventurous than I am right now.
This was a decent sized avalanche. 1,500 feet the dude fell in a little over 20 seconds. The crown was about 1 – 1.5m. The chute that he got sucked through to the skier’s right was flanked on either side by cliff bands that were about 30m tall. He luckily didn’t break any bones and obviously didn’t hit anything on the run out.
1,500 feet in 20 seconds? Damn. Read the rest of the description for a bit of background on how he got into the situation and a more words of caution on skiing in avalanche zones.
I love a good challenge, and the effort to transport about 6 cubic meters (a large van full) of stuff from Paris to Nice on short notice during a national holiday provided an exceptional series of challenges.
The first challenge was to transport the stuff 1.5 Km from Stade de France to my hotel at 3 AM. Thankfully, there were a load of crew hands around. After chatting with them for a bit and with the people managing them, I received some free assistance pushing all the the equipment (thankfully everything fit on 6 flight cases with wheels) to my hotel – picture of this effort above. About 45 minutes later I paid my cheerful helpers with beer, orange juice, and candy bars, and convince the hotel to let me stash all of the stuff in the hotel conference room until the following evening. One down.
The second challenge was to find a way to transport all of the kit down to Nice, 950 Km away. Something told me that 5 set of helping hands wouldn’t do the trick this time. First thing in the morning my colleague help ring around to various “man with a van” services while some co-workers in London tried to find a suitable rental van. After just a couple of calls we realized that there was no legit service that was willing to do the delivery the next day – Bastille Day, the biggest national holiday in France. A while later we found that there were no vans to be rented in all of Paris. When continued searching all day in vain.
At 4:30 in the afternoon a glimmer of hope appeared as we found the last van in Paris – it was far to large and very far away, but it was something. I hopped in a cab and raced over. Upon arrival at the supplied address however, my heart sank. It was Rue de Rivoli 93 – the Louvre, which, in case you have never been, isn’t a van rental agency. I went in anyway and much to my surprise found that two floors down where the tour buses park, there is indeed a van rental company. I grabbed my vehicle at the last possible moment, loaded up my kit, and went to bed for an early departure the next day.
The drive down to Nice was a bit wet in the morning, but pleasant enough cruising through France and surfing local radio. The truck was a bit unwieldy in the cities, but proved to be a capable beast out on the road. The rain cleared as I left Lyon and found myself driving through Provence on a perfect afternoon. But then 7 hours into my 9 hour drive, the next challenge arrived. With the fuel gauge still reading 1/4 of a tank, the van started to sputter and stall. I was lucky enough to be right next to an exit, and pulled off the road. I hopped out and opened up the fuel tank, which was empty as I had feared. Checking the dashboard again I saw that the fuel gauge now showed 1/8 of a tank. At least it was optimistic.
I was blocking the exit, so I hopped out and with adrenaline surging, pushed the van back 15 meters out of trouble – to the spot you see in the picture. Then I turned to the phones, and with a little help from friends with access to a French land line that could dial local toll-free numbers, managed to explain my situation to the rental agency and also contact emergency services to dispatch a crew that could give me some diesel. I have never been happier to have studied French. A couple hours later I was back on the road with Hertz covering the cost of the breakdown as the emergency services technician explained that there was indeed a fault with the fuel gauge.
It’s the type of trouble that I like to get in while I’m out on the road – challenging, but with no imminent threat to my health or well being. It was stressful, but sipping a beer that evening it didn’t seem like a half bad couple of days.
Lane Wallace writes in The Atlantic about how adventure tourists having a good time together expose themselves to significant risks. A week ago I was musing about bonding power of risk, but it’s also good to look at it’s destructive power.
So first, there is the problem that Wallace highlights. There are certain variables that make you feel that your risk is actually less than it is. If you think you are in control, if you think that there is an expert or authority helping and protecting you, if you’re in a good mood, or if there is a group of people taking the risk with you, then you can easily forget how dangerous the situation is. The example I used for bonding is a perfect example. We we’re travelling as a group, so felt it wasn’t quite as dangerous as it actually was.
Digging back through the archives of Q4A, I find more evidence this theory on perceived risk. When discussing my need for a ski-helmet, I mentioned that when I’m happy and having fun I take on a greater level of risk. Case and point: as soon as I actually got to the slopes this winter I didn’t end up buying a helmet. I was having fun and the group I was with didn’t have helmets, so my perceived risk dropped.
The second problem is that taking risks is addicting. The rush you get can be addictive – literally from the dopamine boost you get when you take risks. There’s also the lifestyle addiction, you fall into the pastern and don’t really think to get out of it until you get into trouble.
All told, it’s a reminder that flirting with trouble is a joy and is a great way to make friends, you do have to keep your head up because the closer you get to trouble, the more likely you are to be reckless.
I was nervous about putting this post up while I was on my ski trip, and still feel like it might jinx me for next year, but damn am I glad I’m in one piece after this ski trip. In le Plange, the group I was with was racked with injuries. In the end I think there were 2 broken wrists, a dislocated shoulder, concussion, torn ACL, and broken leg. Of course lots of these people were beginners, but it still made me mighty fearful of a bad fall. My second day in Grimentz that fear was only reinforced when I watched this mid-mountain medi-vac. I really love skiing, but when I stop to think about the potential injuries, it seems really damn crazy.
Oh well, knock on wood. I’ll still be back on the slopes next year.
