Theyve seen my big ski bag.
They can smell the hefty fare.
Theyre circling and giving me hungry looks, inviting waves.
It still has the logos from its former life as a small Eastern European telecom fleet vehicle.
Two seats up front, brimming with bags and gear behind.
Hey, I cant stop the motor because the battery is dead!
Kyle twists and hauls himself out of the tiny drivers seat, looming over the vehicle.
Good to see you dude!
Also, the power steering is out.
I think Jon and Brian are inside the airport somewhere looking for you.
I hop in shotgun and instinctively reach behind my shoulder for the seatbelt.
Thats broken too actually.
Kyle is soon wheeling and weaving us through dark and deserted foreign motorways.
Inside, were shooting the shit just like were headed up to Stevens Pass on a ski day.
The ski town of Gudauri is two jolting and twisting hours later.
Im tired, bewildered and in the ex-Soviet Republic of Georgia.
https://www.newschoolers.com/videos/watch/897918/Rick-Quest
Gudauri
The road keeps climbing.
The views get more and more stunning.
Pristine naked and treeless alpine draped in snow.
Brown and shitty roads, towns and villages.
Winter always does injustice to otherwise beautiful countryside when you travel.
Gudauri is a blessing.
Lifts perched on a high plateau.
Everything around us is mountains.
Kyles friend back in Tbilisi was paid to fix the electrical issue over the weekend before I got in.
When we pop the hood its obvious the battery and all the connections havent been touched.
Such is Georgia people can be nice to the point of agreeing to things way beyond their actual abilities.
End result: shit doesnt get done.
I fucking need to get rid of this car.
Kyle has had it with this thing.
It took me less than two hours to feel the same.
I dump my gear and baggage unceremoniously in the apartment.
Gondola Underfoot as the Airbnb listing read is actually quite nice.
It sleeps 6, max, and we have at least 7 people residing in it now.
Digging
Gudauri is about as completely different as I can get to the snowpack I know and ski.
Coming from WA State, the phrase 33 degrees and snowing is pretty accurate most of the season.
Huge dumps, sticky marine snow.
The Caucasus are different.
And absolutely no avalanche forecasting.
Kyle set off a fairly serious avalanche a few weeks ago inbounds, onto a commonly skied run.
Day 1, dazed with jet lag, but happy to have skis on my feet.
Halfway around the world, this is the biggest gathering of Ricks in recent years.
I havent seen Kit and Kyle for almost a year and theres much to catch up on.
Wholesome
Georgian food comes in three main varieties.
Bread, meat on a stick, or meat in dough, aka dumplings.
Besides a folded roasted eggplant in walnut sauce, most other recipes involving vegetables seem to be imported.
Similar letdowns with the filled breads weve been told about.
Im getting salt sweats.
Im pretty much one and done.
For dumplings, I do have praise.
Georgians have created a supersized soup dumpling that you may be familiar with from Taiwan and China.
Nobody is inside, and we clunk around the dark smooth stoned interior in ski boots.
Lomisi Monestary
Lomisi is perched on a long ridge to Gudauris south.
Its sunny and hot.
The skintrack that Kit and friends pushed just a few days ago is now riddled with post holes.
Halfway up we intercept transgressors two monks in black robes headed down to town for the day.
As we skin higher, the trees thin, the views get exponentially better.
Were definitely taking more weight down than up not sure how that works.
This chain is traditionally taken up and down the mountain once every year.
For once, I can imagine something heavier than Brians pack.
To the south from our ridgetop view, a wilder land stretches.
At my level, seeing this much air under your skis means you screwed up bad.
And its multiplying every second.
It snaps my gaze from between my feet and I remember I need to pilot.
Keep the arms up.
Active steering, equal pressure on toggles.
None of that pendulum bullshit.
A small updraft causes a massive jolt and I suddenly feel very small and very alone.
A mote of dust in a sea of atmosphere.
All I want is smooth air.
And to survive this.
Preparing for Takeoff
I check behind me to see to it that the wing is down.
I lived through my first speedflying flight.
Looping the lines of the wing up my hands are shaking.
I realize Im buzzing more than the first time I skydived.
I want another one.
The skies over Gudauri are always dotted with a paragliders.
Dont get me wrong there are pilots here that are pros.
Ones apparently even a somewhat elderly stripper.
Little do they know how little we know about what the heck were doing.
Not to be out-gapered, Grant steps up his leather USA jacket and jeans game
Kobi
Im sick.
I feel like shit.
It is 3 AM.
Verily
I put in earplugs from the Turkish Airlines complimentary travel kit bag.
Maybe only 41 virgins for him now.
Its alright tho, I have another Quran around here somewhere Grant mumbles.
I still have a terrible raw hacking cough but Im good enough and theres new snow to ski.
My inner decision making in avy terrain comes back with a vengeance.
Last line on Sadzele is different.
Kyle and I ski out onto the top, stepping around small spicy rocks with our skis.
It holds, in whats probably the worst wind affected area.
Im fairly confident it will ski.
I look down from where I stand.
A year ago I might have tried to push him, for better our worse.
Im at least half a leg lower than everyone else, transfixed on the observation wall Ive dug.
Not a very representative pit at all for what we want to ski.
But I console myself practice makes perfect.
Digging a pit on the other side of this thing would be insane steep and risky.
Note for future self bring beer for these pit breaks to console impatient Ricks.
But we want the spice on the south facing side adjacent.
The other side of this thing might go.
What looked miles away on the first day is actually realized to be somewhat close.
Gear is broken down and hastily repacked.
Time to punch the last few feet of skintrack and peek over the other edge.
I look longing at the nice snow and gently sloping bowl we climbed up.
Were probably leaving great conditions in favor of something shittier.
But Ricks want spice.
Stray dogs are missing from every gas station.
People are casually unfriendly to strangers.
Cards are accepted everywhere.
I understand the conversation unfolding between the clerk and the customer at the supermarket.
My neighborhood suddenly feels incredibly diverse and multicultural.
Ricks dont do lavish.
Georgia couldnt be a more ideal place for us.
