A beautiful plan: Stefan and me would get into a rideshare, drive down to Quebec City and do four hours of Paraskiing. Paraskiing is like kitesurfing, but instead of a kiteboard you have skis or a snowboard, and instead of water you have snow…:

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It’s about 80$ for four hours, so we figured that it was expensive but worth the price. An awesome site for ridesharing in Quebec (and partly down to the U.S.) is AmigoExpress. You pay six dollars to the site itself, and an little more than the gas expenses to the driver. That’s it.
So, instead of using a greyhound-like bus system and paying 50$ to get from Montreal to Quebec, you pay 18$.

So Stefan and me meet at 7AM at a gas station with our driver and begin the journey, really excited for the paraskiing. Stefan calls the organizers to confirm that we are coming. While I see majestic bridge pylons passing by outside, indicating that Quebec city is only a few minutes away, Stefans face shows concern instead of excitement.
“Cancelled? What? Why? … Is there a chance to do it any way? What, no, we are on our way, from Montreal! Yes … Is there anything … aha. Okay. Goodbye.”

Those lousy dudes at the paraskiing facility just decided that today was a snow storm and the paraskiing was cancelled. But we could come tomorrow. And they couldn’t inform us yesterday night or so.
I look outside again. Romantic little snowflakes dancing by in a nearly windless air. The pussiest snowstorm I’ve ever seen.
We get pretty mad and make up plans for redemption, which mainly include inappropriately dispensed body fluids, but soon figure out that this wouldnt make a lot of sense and decide otherwhise – to use the day as well as possible.
In Quebec City, you can go Snow Mobile driving, but it costs about a million dollars to rent them for an hour. A dog-pulled sled is even more expensive to rent. On our way to the tourist information in downtown, we encounter the beginning of an adventurous day: A 20m or so high hill made of snow.

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After climbing up, we decide that we are the kings of the world and therefore should slide down the tallest part of the hill. Stefan goes first:


Quite a slide

I let my backpack including my camera slide down on its own, Stefan catches it. “Ok Toby, go!”
And I jump. And its gonna be a wonderful day. Snow is spraying in my face, my feet rattling through the compressed snow of the hill, braking my increasing sped only a little. I feel so alive. Full of action. Fuck Paraskiing, we got something better here. If those paraskiing guys wouldn’t have just cancelled that event without prior notice, then we wouldnt have found this awesome hill.
I can’t see where the bottom of the hill is tough, too much snow thrown at me from my flabbery feet.
CHRRUUCHHH!

Thats what I would have heard if I would have sat inside the muscle that wraps the ankle of my right leg. I just fell with speed gained over a steeper-than-45-degrees slope over a 2m-cliff right on a concrete parking lot. “Are you okay? The securities are coming!”

I feel like puking. My foot feels like being amputated. Great.
The securities take down our names and advise us to leave campus, since last year someone did the same and broke his foot. I was pretty close to breaking it, I guess, but thanks to Parkour and acrobatics it was the muscles which compensated the impact, not the bones.
The rest of the day basically consisted in complaining over my pain, thinking about life, getting thrown out of a subway (Sir, you are here since four hours, you are not my customer any more. Could you please put on socks.), drinking expensive coffee, reading a book and limping through the brownish slimy half-melt snow of Quebec City.

Fuck Paraskiing, seriously.

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