My dad was a competitive cyclist in his younger years but when he became storekeeper/family man he did not seem to have time for outside sporting interests. He was introduced to skiing in middle age by our association with the Lofts family and he came to love it in a very elementary sense. The whole family would wake early on Sunday morning, leave home before daybreak, travel three to four hours to the snow, ski all day then drive back home to Cobargo arriving around ten in the evening. These were the days when much of the trip was by winding dusty dirt road with the accompanying inconvenience of travel sickness for some. But even this was small sacrifice for the thrills of the snow. The only occasions I recall my dad holidaying without Mum was for our annual pilgrimages to the Smiggins car park with the old caravan in tow. They were some of the best times spent with my dad.
very cool!
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