The saga continues …
When I broke my leg, I was skiing for the first time, and the last time, in Europe.
Courcheval was, and I presume still is, a marvelously beautiful setting with a charming town and a magnificent glacier based ski resort. It was particularly thrilling to me to be skiing in the home stomping grounds of my skiing hero, Jean Claude Killy.
In addition to lovely, small hotels, the food was of the finest French caliber of cooking. It had been a simply wonderful trip and I was taking, yes, you guessed it, the last run of the last day before we were to pack to leave. I was just enjoying the ride down, letting my skis remain in an extended unweighted (evenly balanced without any edging) position to skid along the slope. While in this unweighted position, I hit a patch of powder which grabbed my edges and sent me flying forward.
It was immediately clear that I had suffered a serious break, not the least of which reasons being that my skis and legs were arranged in a manner that is not possible if all your bones are still attached. The right ski was still attached to my leg, just my leg wasn’t exactly still attached to me.