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upright. It had been a long time since I had needed to keep my
balance and it didn't feel instinctive. I felt a violent tug to the
right and realised that my sledges, as eager as an excited puppy,
had broken ranks from behind me and now raced alongside,
threatening to overtake. I brought myself to a safe halt - just to
prove that I could - before taking off again, whooping aloud
at the thrill of it. I allowed myself to go as fast as I dared. I
had no means (nor sufficient skill) to steer on free-heeled skis
over such hard ground at speed, so I simply clattered clumsily
over ripples of stone-hard sastrugi, concentrating instead on
balance. Eventually the rush of exhilaration turned into a fizz
of fear. It was clear that a fall could be potentially disastrous.
Yet I was enjoying myself too much to stop and delighted by
the thought of the effortless miles I was covering so rapidly. I
flew down the hill, sledges bumping and bucking at my side,
squealing and grinning like a child on a toboggan. When the
gradient eventually flattened out and I drew gently to a halt,
still giggling to myself, I decided to take an early break to
calm the nerves that remained tense from all the excitement.
Pushing a fistful of snacks into my mouth and pulling out my
water bottle, I looked up at the slope above me. It reared into
the sky like a monster and I felt grateful that I wasn't travelling
in the opposite direction.
Invigorated as I was by the rapid descent, the thought of
Thiels Corner drew me on. I was regularly skiing around three
and a half nautical miles in the ninety minutes between each
break, so by my fourth leg I knew I was close. I pulled out my
GPS from under layers of clothing and knowingly sacrificed
some battery power in order to leave the unit switched on in my
pocket and regularly check that I was heading in precisely the
right direction. The ground ahead was crowded with sastrugi
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