Morning broke with blue skies and brilliant sunshine. Of course, it didn't last, but what the hell. We were on the Bellevarde cable car at 9:00 A.M. Started off on some blue deal, which then merged with the red OK World Cup downhill course, still partially set up from a women's World Cup Downhill run the past Saturday. This downhill had originally been scheduled for Crans Montana in Switzerland, but moved to Val because of lack of snow. Damn - just missed by 3 days watching Picabo Street humiliate yet again the European . Anyway, the snow was still pretty racer hard, but racer fast, too. My heart went pitter-pat as I skied the same snow as Picabo - I'll never wash my skis again.

The OK leads down to the Funival subway-to-the-summit of Le Rocher de Bellevarde, so up we went, then down a piece to to a little chair which brought us to the top of the Tour du Charvet.

Earlier that morning, Josh and I called the Top Ski ski school and guiding company in an attempt to blow a wad of money in search of hidden powder stashes. As usual, we were a bit late in the asking, and there were no guides to be had, so we were left to our own devices. Thus, our interest in this itinerary.

The Tour du Charvet is by no means the toughest nor most remote of the off-piste challenges at Val, so I thought it a fine introduction for Vickie. And sure enough, she loved it. Snow was not all we could hope for - something of a southern exposure - and the run out is a needlessly long traverse, but the scenery is to die for. The tour ends at a chair in the middle of nowhere, so back up we rode, following a route I knew to yet another off-piste tour, the Vallon du Cugnai. At the top of this run, Vickie headed off for tamer thrills, leaving Josh and I on our own.

Yowza! With a northern exposure and fewer skiers, we found some pretty sweet snow. Not quite untracked and very inconsistent, but always deep. Some places were nicely powdered, some wind swept, some heavy cream, and one spot was simply quicksand which captured us both. Three thousand vertical feet of fun.

We squeezed in one powder/bump/photo-op run down the Manchet face before meeting up with Vickie for a French lunch. After the repas, it was on to the Tête du Solaise, with a run straight down the face and into a short bit of woods. Not much powder, but you gotta love trees.

The Doctor called it quits, but Josh and I thought we had legs for one more. Back up the Bellevarde cable car and down the OK in search of the Vallee Perdu - the Lost Valley.

Well, of course we got lost, and missed the upper entrance, but we found an opening down the road a piece, and jumped in. Worn snow, some traffic, but a familiar sight: this run reminded of nothing so much as the ol' Streambed at Stowe. So much so that even with spent jelly legs, I could have skied this blindfolded. We raced past a couple of guided groups, looking like we were a couple of locals, bouncing around and over rocks like they weren't there. Eventually, it ended in a rock pile that required a skis-off hike, but the gnarly beauty of this gem was worth the walk.

And now we were at La Daille again, with the choice of a bus ride (yuck) back to the hotel, or another subway ride back up to the top. Skiers code: we hopped on the Funival, leaving us but one choice down: La Face Olympique: the 1992 Mens' Olympic Downhill.

While not outrageously tough at our less-than-Olympic speeds, this black piste is still no walk in the park. The top section is akin to a narrower Perry Merrill; the mid sections not unlike the three turns of Nosedive on a bad day. Luckily, the lower third features several shortcuts straight down the fall line, allowing us to escape the icy piste in search of softer snow. And these short cuts lead to some trees, and the trees led us straight to our hotel door. Ski in, if not ski out.

Speaking of hotels, the Chamois d'Or, while not without its charms, was nowhere near the caliber of the Hôtel l'Europe in Monêtier. Room was slightly smaller, no TV (and thus, no aprés ski "A Team" au français!), and less interesting food - especially breakfast. Oh, well, it was a place to crash, and we had the whole of Val d'Isere, one of the most happening ski villages in France, at our disposal.

Yeah, right. We visited two ski shops, bought a couple of postcards, ate dinner, and crashed. No dancing 'til dawn at Dick's T-Bar for this crowd: we were here to ski.