This was the first time, over the many Alps holidays that myself and Andy I had, that one of us had come off on a sender drop or jump. I couldn’t believe it. It was the end of the days riding. I felt bad for ruining the days plans. No one was in the mood to ride anymore. I picked up my bike with twisted forks, totaled helmet, and binned parts of what had been a peak and goggles, and we made the journey back to Morzine up and down the chairlifts. My injuries were mainly on my face: cut and swollen lip, cuts on my nose and forehead, a sore jaw and black eyes. I was also gutted that I had written off my remaining long sleeve t.shirt after losing my other one the day before, and tore a good t.shirt. After 24 hours I was three items of clothing down.

 

That evening we all considered going home, but it was too expensive. The next day Ben set off and we, Andy and I, took a day off riding and grew hopeful of our remaining holiday. After a day or two off we still had a few days to ride in and we planned to go to Morgin on the Friday. Ben left me his helmet to ride in, but it was too big. I bodged his peak onto my cracked Gyro with Andy’s spare goggles strapped on and planned not to land on my face.

 

A day and a half later we were back on the Pleney lift, about to ride Chevanne to see whether I could ride. A few yards after we set off my positivity had gone. I could feel every little bump on my nose as my borrowed goggles moved ever so slightly. I rode on anyway and before we even got to the bottom of Les Gets Andy’s mech fell to pieces. This time it was broken for good. Our ride had quickly come to an end. On the way back to Morzine I decided to buy sunglasses as I couldn’t ride in goggles, and Andy accepted the fact he had to buy an expensive mech to get his bike running. By 6pm, with new mech fitted and sun glasses purchased, we lazed in the sun and grew positive once more.

 

I felt like a bit of an idiot riding in sunglasses but I was happy to be riding. After a couple of runs of Chevanne to warm up we tried some of the tracks running through the woods, where I spotted a fun jump line I was eager to try later in the day. I was riding well, consistently riding the berm jump at the bottom of Chevanne with style and generally having a good time. After some lunch we did some filming. I had planned to have a clip of a fast berm section, but when Andy went to film we realised it didn’t look good on camera. On the next chairlift we spotted a different angle for the section that seemed promising. When we got there we planned the shot and I walked up to the top of the section. I was overly conscious that I was being filmed and so had to ride fast for the clip to be worth while. I rolled in faster than usual, hit the first couple of turns on the edge of control, but on the next berm I was getting out of control. I thought I could hold my line but on a small jump after a corner I flew far past the landing. The jump placed me in an awkward position but I was still confident I could ride it out, until my front wheel hit a ditch.

 

That was it. Another high speed crash. My bike flung me sideways face first and ’do not land on your face, your helmet won’t save you’ was stitched in my mind. I forced my arm in front of my face before I slammed the ground and once again I was thrown like a rag doll, hitting the side of my head hard on one of my rolls. When I came to a stand still I was in excruciating pain. I was light headed and it felt like my arm and ribs had been hacked away with a saw. After I forced myself up to move my bike out of the track all I wanted to do was lie down and wake up at home. To add to my anger I had ripped apart another good t.shirt. When I stopped feeling dizzy we rode down the rest of the track and back to the apartment. I noticed something was wrong with my left thumb and knew my riding time was up. Morgin was going to have to wait. 

 

Not all holidays go to plan, especially when bikes are involved.