Back in the Saddle: Brèche de la Meije

As Brad consistently reminds me, I am, as usual, far behind on my blog postings (you would think that he would have figured out, after all this time, that I am just not that good of a blogger).  While he's been laid up with a broken ankle and subsequent crutch-induced tendonitis, I have still managed to get out on some adventures--which have been, thus far, sorely underrepresented on the blog.   I'm sure that our loyal readership (Hi Dad! Nancy!) is anxious to hear my accounts of the following outings:
- Grand Renaud with Thibaut, Olivier and Olivier
- Abe and Evan come to Grenoble
- Brad walks 14k in the Cirque d'Archiane
- Lenny comes to visit
- Hillary and Brad take in culture in Paris
However, before I recount all of the 'old news', I want to share the newest most exciting news:

Brad is back in the saddle! 

(well, getting there, anyway, and this weekend was an amazing start!!) 

After getting the go-ahead from his physical therapist, Brad and I headed up to the Ecrins to test out the old ankle on a mini ski touring adventure.   Saturday afternoon we drove to La Berarde on a road that will never cease to amaze me or take my breath away with anxiety.  We skinned up to the Refuge du Châtelleret in the mid-afternoon heat with the intention of spending a leisurely evening in the refuge.   Unfortunately, a rather unwieldy group of CAF members made the soirée a little less relaxed than hoped. However, the joy of finally being in the mountains together again helped us to ignore the 30 obnoxious, cackling, snoring, and rustling overly-confident yet under-experienced Lyonnais who shared the refuge with us.
Fortunately, said group headed out on a different itinerary in the morning, and we were able to start the ski tour at dawn while observing their cluster from afar.

Skinning up toward the Promontoire as the first rays of sunlight hit the Meije

From just below the Brèche: Promontoire, Grand Ruine and a little glimpse of the Barre

Climbing up to the brèche

The snow was firm as we skinned up, and the sun rose behind the looming peaks around us.  But as soon as sunlight began to hit the slopes, the snow began to transform and we knew we'd have a fun descent.
About 100m below the Brèche de la Meije, we swapped skis for crampons and piolets, and worked our way up to the day's high point. At 3,357m, we definitely felt the altitude as topped out in the the saddle, but still felt completely dwarfed by the Meije to the east and the Rateau to the west, towering above us.
After a snack and a brief bask in the sun, we saw the window of perfectly sun-warmed snow below, and headed back down to put the skis back on enjoy the corn snow before it turned to soup.
As he tightened down his boots, Brad was anxious about how his ankle would fare on the descent.  He knew he could get the to bottom of the hill, but wasn't sure how it would feel and whether or not he'd be able to move beyond survival skiing into the realm of having fun. Luckily for us, his fears soon disappeared--the snow was perfect: just the top few inches were softened by the sun on top of a solid base allowing for excellent ski conditions.   Watching him ski down the slope with ease and obvious pleasure (as evidenced by punctual whoops), you never would have guessed that it was his first real outing of the year.

"He hasn't lost it!!"

Excellent schussing conditions

I did my best to keep up with him, equally ecstatic with the incredible conditions.  Remarkably, we were able to scope out untracked lines and ski down virgin pitches of perfect spring snow. The only complaint of the day was that the 1000 meters of descent was over far too fast--Brad showed his enthusiasm by missing the refuge entirely on the way down, too focused on the pleasure of skiing to notice that he passed it by.
Back at the Châtelleret, we sunbathed and enjoyed our picnic before finally coming to terms with the fact that we had to go back to Grenoble.

Picnic below the Meije

As is always the case, when we made our way down to the valley, wound down the road and drove the city, we felt the overwhelming sense of un-reality that accompanies spending time up in the mountains, and then quickly entering back into a city that did not miss a beat in your absence.   For us, even if it was for little more than 24 hours this round, time had slowed down a little bit.  We were more deliberate, more observant, and more reflective.  And arriving back in a place and surrounded by people who are unaware and unconcerned by the fact that you've changed--just a little bit--is a weird feeling.
However, I think Brad would attest to the fact that, after a few months of staying in the bustling city life, that sense of jarring readjustment and getting your bearings back is a damn good problem to have. And I'm certainly happy to be back to sharing that experience together.

Brad lets gravity pull him back down into the valley

A final glimpse of the Dome and the Barre des Ecrins before the heading back to the city begs the question:  When we head back into Grenoble, are we on our way back to reality (the so-called "real world") or are we leaving reality?