Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
Yeti
Trad climber
Ketchum, Idaho
|
|
Joe: Yes, I'll be in Santa Cruz. Hope to see you there. Happy Sailing....Dick
|
|
WBraun
climber
|
|
Thanks for the memories of Steve, Dick, we miss him.
And thanks for teaching me how to ski and saving me from ski patrol ......
|
|
Yeti
Trad climber
Ketchum, Idaho
|
|
Werner: Like Steve, you have followed your passions in life. I thank and commend you for that and hope we get to make some Sierra turns together before all the snows melt. Best.....Dick
|
|
tbag
Social climber
ny, ny
|
|
|
Feb 11, 2010 - 09:51am PT
|
The book Driving at Night was an excellent read for a flight to Melbourne from ny.
Kind of like Krakauer without the negativity.
What is Tom Simons doing these days? And Mckinney's son, Stephan?
A question I have is why would SM pull off on the side of a highway (was it 5) to sleep? No exits for miles?
|
|
Yeti
Trad climber
Ketchum, Idaho
|
|
|
Feb 26, 2010 - 01:48pm PT
|
Happy that you like Night Driving. Steve was at a rest stop where he should have been. His son is in Sacramento and is going to mechanics school. Tom Simons is living around Tahoe City.
|
|
Dick Erb
climber
June Lake, CA
|
|
|
Feb 26, 2010 - 08:28pm PT
|
Yeti- I hadn't heard that Tamara was with Steve on that trip. Was she in the car at the time?
I was once skiing with Steve at Squaw, before Tamara became a great and famous racer. At one point when I finally caught up with him and complimented him on his skiing. He replied, "You should see my little sister."
|
|
Jaybro
Social climber
Wolf City, Wyoming
|
|
|
Feb 26, 2010 - 08:31pm PT
|
Yeti, we need you to join us at one of our Wyde wednesdays, at Soquel, maybe you can carpool with Doug Robinson....
|
|
Yeti
Trad climber
Ketchum, Idaho
|
|
Dick: No Tamara was not with Steve. He was on his way to meet her in S.F. And, yes, as a young girl it was evident that Tamara had the skiing talent to become.....Tamara the World Champion, and it was a great process to watch unfold. And Steve was very proud of her. And Jaybro: I'll check in with Doug next time I'm in Santa Cruz.
|
|
Doug Robinson
Trad climber
Santa Cruz
|
|
Hi Dick,
That will be great, as I too am looking to reconnect. But you gotta watch out for that Wyde crowd. They have built torture devices more stringent than any rock slots; they are fit, and cackle in a nearly kindly way at those of us struggling to hold a core.
Incisive company, of course, which makes all the difference.
Thanks for the words on Steve; I can still taste that aire about Steamboat.
|
|
Yeti
Trad climber
Ketchum, Idaho
|
|
|
Mar 13, 2010 - 05:09pm PT
|
|
|
Yeti
Trad climber
Ketchum, Idaho
|
|
|
Mar 13, 2010 - 05:33pm PT
|
T-Bag: In July 1965 a young Italian skier named Walter Mussner died after a horrific fall in the KL in Cervinia. I wrote about it in an unpublished book titled "The Straight Course." I later took three sections from that book, including the description of Walter's fall, and made an essay out of them titled "In Pursuit of Pure Speed." The essay was published in Mountain Gazette and then included in "The Ski Book," published by Arbor House and now out of print, but it is the best collection of ski writing I know of. You likely read it in MG. I'm currently working on putting together a collection of my own ski writing and the essay will be included. Here's part of it:
I965: Second Year at Cervinia: The Death
(From my journal) The morning of July twenty-sixth the track was ice down to the blue disc (the one Gasperl hit), about IOO meters above the trap. Solid, wind-blown ice. Below that, the track was covered with soft, new snow, about 8 inches deep, blown there by the laws of terrain and wind. Those in charge prepared it in the same, masterly fashion. We were two days without skiing and this day was added to the schedule; it was an extension of our time. We went up to the Plateau Rosa early. The weather was beautiful, a slight bit cold.
At the top we joked, wished each other luck, did warm-up exercises, adjusted equipment----just like always. I was completely absorbed in what had to be done. The two days off skis were noticeable.
Mussner went first. His time came back up as I72.084. I was really excited when I heard that. The first time over I70 this year! The record was in sight! I ran fifth or sixth and held my position. It was a wonderful, free run; but I felt the change going off the ice onto soft snow. My time was I70.373, but I, and everyone else on the outrun, thought they announced I73. I hurried back up thinking I had the best run of the round, and I was full of getting the record back. I don't know what it is about that bloody record.
When I got to the top Ninni told me I was fourth behind Mussner, Siorpaes, and Leitner. That seemed logical because I had been surprised to hear my time as I73. It hadn't felt so fast. The slight disappointment filled me even more with desire for the record. I kept saying to myself---"I'm gonna get that bastard back " I talked a little with Mussner and congratulated him for his fine first run. I spoke to Siorpaes. I observed the rituals. I remember grinning because I was sure Mussner and Siorpaes were as full of the record as I.
Then there came a time when no one wanted to go. There was no particular reason. One hadn't finished waxing. Another was cold. Still another was tuning his mind. I was still tired from climbing up too fast. Mussner appeared ready, but he didn't want to go. · I don't know why---nerves probably. (I'm sure now that he had a premonition.) I jumped into the breach and said I was ready. Actually I was still tired, but I was so excited and anxious about finally breaking into the I70S that it didn't matter. I went anyway, and I held my position over both jumps. I put my head down just before the soft part of the track and immediately pulled it back up. The track was a monstrous mess. It hadn't even been side slipped between rounds. I lost my position. It was like driving a car across a furrowed .field at 100 mph.
I didn't know how fast I was, but I knew it wasn't very good. Now I know that my time was 168.539 kph. I was mad about the track and I skied to a stop in front of Egon. I said, ''The track is really bad, Egon, why don't they work on it?" He knew what I meant and felt just about like I did, and he said something like, "1 don't know, you can't talk to these f*#king Italians." Then I said, quote, "Well, someone's going to get hurt up there.” Unquote.
Egon took my skis and began waxing them. A few were still getting into the I70s, and I was full of-with luck-the record.
Then Mussner came.
On Sunday night, the twenty fifth, Mussner saw a photo of Luigi taken on the first day. In this photograph Luigi's head is completely down and all you can see is the top of his helmet. It is the most fantastic Lanciato photo I've seen. Walter studied the photograph for a few minutes. "Tomorrow I will do that," he told Luigi. Luigi grinned, as any champion will whose disciples are trying to imitate him. It is the grin of pride and of being flattered, but it is also a grin of awareness of the difficulties in the refinements of any champion s. technique, the refinements which all disciples try for and hardly any ever achieve. In this case, the refinement of putting ones head between one s knees and skiing blind at more than I05 mph.
Mussner came and his head was down. I have the impression that when I was on top and Walter didn't want to go he was forcing himself to be able to put his head down. (Perhaps also fighting a premonition.) This is what I think, but there is no way to know. Later, Franca told me that Mussner nearly didn't go again; I don't know why, nor does anybody. Then he said something like, "Well, there s still the record." And he left the top.
He came and I saw him from above the blue disc, just before where the track was bad. His head was already down, his position was good, and he held it like that all the way. Many things went into the sequence of what happened then, and no one will ever know exactly what they were, but this is what I think:
At the top of the timing area he began to veer right. I saw immediately that he was on his way off the track. A cold electric shock passed through me like a tidal wave of fear. My heart went numb and my blood disappeared. Walter went off the track just at the end of the timing, just missing the electric eye pillar. He went through a little post and that ridiculous net they had fanned out on each side. When he hit that post the world changed.
At that speed many things could cause a slight deviation of direction. It is impossible to have more than an opinion as to why he went off the course. It was obvious from watching how he held this position and from what he said afterward that he was unaware he was off course until he had already fallen. I believe two things killed Walter Mussner, not one more than the other. I think the bad track caused him to veer to one side against the natural slope of the track, and I think Walter's head being down made him unaware of what was happening, and, therefore, unable to correct it. I think if the track had been properly groomed he wouldn't have veered off course, and if he had kept his head up he would have known what was happening and he would have been able to correct it. But---and Walter Mussner is dead.
What happened when Walter hit that post and fell is something I don't think I will forget as long as I live; and it will be more than a few days before the image leaves my mind, allowing me easy sleep at night and to write and read and be naturally of this life the rest of the time. He clocked a time of 170.1)2 kph just as he fell; but to the naked eye, it appears that the racers in the last 30 meters of the 100-meter trap accelerate to a much greater speed. I would not be surprised if the racer who clocks 170 for 100 meters is traveling at 190 for the last 10 or 20 meters. Right there, where there is that little boost of acceleration that anyone can observe, Walter fell. With incredible force and speed he went end over end, feet and then head hitting the snow, and each turn wrenching his body unbelievably. Afterwards, eleven holes were counted in the snow, feet, head, feet, head, feet, head, and, at the end, everything. It was difficult to believe it was a human body undergoing such gyrations, such speed, such force. The only thing I have ever seen like it were movies of Bill Vukovich’s car at Indianapolis when he was killed in 1955. It was similar to that.
For a few seconds that seemed like minutes after he stopped in a motionless pile in the transition, everyone I was frozen still with astonishment and fear. There was---I am sure in everyone because it was there in me---the hope of a miracle that Walter Mussner would get up and that no one would have to go pick him up. At the same time, I don't think there was a doubt in anyone s mind that he wasn't going to move by himself. I have seen some bad falls, and I have even had a few myself; but this wasn't like a skiing fall anyone had ever seen before. No one has ever fallen like that.
Then Rico was screaming over the loudspeaker. That snapped people out of their trance. Dozens of people were suddenly all around Walter, about 30 yards from where I stood. I started to go, but instinct told me not to; and I am glad I didn't. Ivo (Mahlknecht) and Felice (DeNicolo) were there, and they were closer comrades than I; so he wasn't alone when he shouldn't be alone.
It took about half an hour to get him off the hill. During that time not one person even side slipped the track, though competition was obviously to continue as soon as possible. I was mad and sick with the knowledgeable suspicion that if Walter wasn't dead he was an agonizing pile of broken bones. Egon was furious the way the German temperament gets furious when unhappy.
I stared at the group around Walter. Egon finished waxing my skis. I was, however, finished psychologically and spiritually, and I knew it. I told Egon I would run again if the track began to be fast enough for a record. I would go up and wait and listen to the times. If they got close I would go; if not, not. Egon said it was finished, but I went up and waited anyway; but I never came down on the track.
Just before I went up to wait, Hans Berger broke away from the group around Walter and came my way. Hans, who lives in Kufstein, is small, with tiny, delicate features and an expressive face. He usually looks about eighteen years old, though he is thirty. When he came up to me, he looked a hundred years old and there were tears in his eyes.
"Ist es schlecht?" I asked.
"Ja," he said in a strange way.
"Sehr schlecht?"
"Sehr schlecht," he answered in a way that made me know it was.
I went up to the top and waited with that in the pit of my stomach. Probably, it was best the track never got fast enough to make me think a record was possible.
They took Walter to Aosta and he lived a little more, than five hours. Unfortunately, he was conscious most of that time. He fractured his skull, broke two vertebrae in his neck, pulverized his entire pelvic region, broke one femur and tore loose the femoral artery, and he tore himself open from the anus to the navel. He had acute hemorrhages of the brain, stomach, and leg. Toward the end he went blind. If he had lived he would have lost one leg, he wouldn't have been a man any longer, and he probably would have been paralyzed. Kiki went with him to Aosta and held his hand until he died. She is only twenty and has never seen a dead person before, and she was still in shock and sometimes hysterics the next night when she and her mother told me about it.
The Italian and Swiss papers are full of stupid things about it. The people of Cervinia all say that the track was "perfetto," and they put the whole blame on a mistake of Walter's. They’ve gone on at some length why it s not the fault of the Lanciato committee, the organization, or anyone s. That is not quite true. Some say there is nothing dangerous about the Lanciato. That, too, is not quite true. Others call the Lanciato stupidly insane. Nor is that true. If I uttered to the press what I think about the track, they would interpret it as blaming those responsible for track maintenance for Walter's death. That, also, is not the truth; and it would do infinitely more harm than good. And it would not help Walter. There is no prevention (except abstention, which is ridiculous) for such accidents, and there is no blame. It is part of skiing that fast.
I was the only one competing that day who saw Walter fall, and I returned to the top with a different perspective on our endeavors. The racers and officials asked about the delay. Why was the track closed so long? I said Walter had a bad fall that tore up the track a bit; the delay was necessary for repairs. I had neither desire nor right to elaborate. I sat at the top for a long time. Some racers got in six runs, nearly everyone got four or five. Only Mussner and I ran just twice. Visions of his fall tumbled through my brain. I could not make them leave. (They entered my dreams and woke me in the night for the next two years.) It was the same clear day, but a grainy, colorless filter had descended on the world.
Leitner, leading with 172.744, decided not to run again unless his time was beaten. It never was. My time dropped from fourth best to eighth. Luigi, suffering badly from a strep throat and cold, took five runs before breaking into the first ten. My place on the result sheets, the race itself, winning or losing no longer mattered. What importance has the race alongside life itself? What game do we play in which the loser forfeits life? What type of men play this game? For it was obvious from the beginning that one of us would die because of some human failing, neglecting for a billionth of eternity the rules of the game. Is human failure cause to die? If it is, are we not playing with the rules and stakes of Neanderthal man? I never meant to play a game in which one of the players would inevitably, through mathematical laws as sure as those governing Russian roulette, smash his body beyond repair; yet I played and watched it happen and I felt deep in my innards that I had always known it was going to happen. I remembered waiting for C. B. at the bottom of Portillo's track, wondering about the game's next move if he beat my time. The questions would not disappear. I had no answers.
My friend Franca Simondetti gave Leitner and me some Sangria. We drank it over small talk and silence. Strange to drink the sweet Sangria, to feel its wonderful vapors fill your body and your brain, exploding your taste buds as you sit in the sun---sweet Sangria---all the while trapped with death in a vision of the boyish face of Walter Mussner and a fall unlike any other. Strange to sit like that with Ludwig Leitner, the big German who exudes toughness and confidence and plays the game hard, drinking and healthy. Life's mysteries unfold through everyday functions.
Tiring of Sangria, small talk, and waiting for a run I neither wanted nor would ever make, I skied down alongside the track. Racers were still coming, about one a minute. As a competitor, I was allowed to stand close to the track, and I watched the big speeds from about 30 feet away. For the first time in three years of playing with eternity, I viewed it with a new realization of flesh and blood men, mere mortals, at play with the forces of the universe; it was wondrous that we dared, but never again would I view another man as a rival whose mistakes or refinements I must note and use to my advantage. I could hardly believe what I saw. I knew these men. We had joked, laughed, eaten, drunk, and skied together. We had entered into freedom and struggled with terror, and together we had ignored our common reality. Walter Mussner reminded us of our negligence. I watched my friends like children in a play yard; proud, arrogant, innocent. We had accomplished great things, but, when all was done and spoken, we were just men; probably we could be better men, for we had not put away childish things.
When I got down to Cervinia, the word was around that Mussner was badly hurt. Only those who saw him fall had any idea what that meant. Most of the racers didn't think that Walter would not be back with them. I returned to my hotel, changed clothes, and packed my ski bag for Egon to take to Kufstein. Walter was in Aosta and I had heard he was alive when he reached the hospital; that is usually a good sign for the chances of survival. I put my thoughts with Walter Mussner and packed my bag.
After, I was carrying the heavy bag of skis up the street to Egon's hotel when something happened I cannot define but only describe. It came in what I have come to know as a "flash." Suddenly I knew Walter Mussner was dead. It was sure; it was something I knew. Walter was dead, and I no longer felt the hard sadness that had been with me since the fall. What I felt was something like intense peace and joy and relief, all together. I do not know if that feeling arose because Waller was out of his suffering, or because what had happened had happened to him and not to me, or if there was another reason. I set down my big, red Kneissl ski bag and rested. I did not question the fact of his death nor the quality or means of my knowledge, but I wasn't supposed to feel what I felt. For I felt better and more alive than I had since Walter began veering right. An hour later Kalevi told me Walter Mussner was dead.
Diary, July 4, I965
From now on every man who tries seriously and truly for a record carries death in his hind pocket. I think that this year everyone will make it, but after this it will get too fast, too tough, and eventually someone will buy the farm no one ever wants but everyone gets.
END
Dick Dorworth
|
|
WBraun
climber
|
|
|
Mar 13, 2010 - 07:09pm PT
|
Good true story Dick, haunting ......
|
|
Mark Rodell
Trad climber
Bangkok
|
|
|
Mar 13, 2010 - 07:51pm PT
|
"For I felt better and more alive than I had since Walter began veering right."
Nothing in writing is more important than honesty
|
|
Hullu Jussi
Mountain climber
Breckenridge
|
|
|
Apr 25, 2010 - 09:51pm PT
|
Dick, Craig, thanks for all these great memories. The current speed skiers still hold Steve in reverence, and a link to this thread is now circulating on Facebook. Just 2 days ago there was a speed ski event on Mont Fort in Verbier directly below the tram- the top speed was 219kmh by Simone Origone of Italy, who also won the men's speed ski world cup globe this year. Dick, you are a great writer-I have a copy of the "ski book" purchased on ebay!! Craig, you are a great friend and I hope our paths cross again soon. I got to talk a bit with Tamara in Vail 2 weeks ago at the Jimmie Heuga Express finals- she is looking great!! ps- Hullu Jussi is Finnish for Crazy John
|
|
Cartop
Social climber
Jemez Springs, NM
|
|
|
Apr 26, 2010 - 12:18am PT
|
Great to see so many friends here that I haven't heard of or from for years. Though I'd seen the photo of Steve, Dick and the others with their long hair and beards (one of my faves, not just for Steve, but for Dick Dorworth too), I'd never read this thread and I am amazed by all the great stories and photos. I first read about speed-skiing when I was in high-school; about McKinney and Simons at Cervina and about Dorworth and CB Vaughn in Portillo. I never thought I'd ever meet them, let alone hang out with them. I met both McKinney and Dorworth at a ski camp in Bariloche in 77 and was in awe of them. I spent time talking with each, but still never thought I'd hang out with them. Then, there I was in Silverton in 81. Dorworth was Steward and I was on track with McKinney. It was great to have a suit and some long skis but I was still star-struck. Dorworth cut me from the race for safety reasons and I thanked him; I knew that I still wasn't ready. When I did 200k at Les Arc in 83 I was over the top with joy because I knew that I was getting closer, but I was the 7th one to do it; Steve was the first to do it. At Tandadalens in 1984 I beat both Franz and Steve the first run of the day and it put me over the top with joy. But it was because I had managed -- on only a couple of occasions -- to beat the Legend. My car-top adventure was an entirely different kind of trajectory. But again, I knew he, Tommy, and Haki were the firsts. Everyone from that era knows that Steve and I had some serious disagreements on how things should be done, but I will always respect, admire, and remember the greatness of his accomplishments, his amazing charisma, and his great character. It was sad and ironic that he came to the end he did. I'll never forget the call I received from Franz Weber, who shared that horrible news with me. I greatly enjoyed the thrill and rush of the speed of KL, but even much more so I am honored to have been friends and to have competed with such great people from around the world!
In 85 I was with Kirsten Culver and we went over to Squaw for a day of skiing. We'd both had a difficult season on the KL tour and were just trying to have some fun and relax. On the second run we ran into Franz Weber, Steve and Tamara and skied with them the whole rest of the day. It was one of the best days of skiing in my whole life, one I'll never forget.
|
|
WBraun
climber
|
|
|
Apr 26, 2010 - 12:23am PT
|
There's nothing better trying to ride a flat ski and smoking down a steep slope on 222 cm skis.
Yowzzz! All hail the speed team ......
|
|
WBraun
climber
|
|
|
Apr 26, 2010 - 12:27am PT
|
Yeah
Speed (real high speed) & long boards rule .....
|
|
Lynne Leichtfuss
Sport climber
Will know soon
|
|
|
Apr 26, 2010 - 01:05am PT
|
I've never experienced the gift of knowing Steve McKinney. But I will Never forget his name and his history.
Years after Steve's death my husband died. I was completely devastated, having no clue how to deal with the grief and pain of the loss of a man I loved for years.
In the midst of this time, several of Steve's friends' again lost close comrades to death. In a way which only life can create paths we alone could never understand, a mystery really, my life path connected with several of Steve's friends here on ST.
The death of their dear friend Steve, and all they had processed, learned and discovered thru Steve's death they offered to me and it resuscitated my life.....gave me new hope. Only those that have lost someone they Love can reach out and give hope and help to those in similar situations. No one else can understand.
So Steve McKinney, I am so sorry you died. But you will never be forgotten...only loved. Your death has brought life to me through your friends.....and so much more. Peace Steve....Always, and to your loved ones. We (I) will never forget you. Peace, lynnie
|
|
240Gordy
Mountain climber
BC
|
|
Wow Cartop we were at the same races. I first met the Tahoe guys at Georgian Peaks in '79, Craig and Tommy Simons were there. I don't think Stevie made it to that one, wasn't there a Pro Downhill in Aspen the same weekend? But is was crazy just the same hanging with Craig and Tommy driving the race promoters van. I shared a cabin with Ken Volz, half of the electric twins! I remember the camaraderie of the speeders meeting up at the airport, the Americans and the Euros were all grins and hugs! Everybody was a little to cool for thatwhere I came from. I was blown away by how everybody was so not arrogant at all. That was mine and Speedskiings first pro race I think. Sponsored by Colt 45 beer.
Steve really was the Steve McQueen of skiing, the epitome of cool. Just saunter up the couloir at Silverton in jeans and a plaid Mac and turn and dive down that big bowl and crack some 180k+ first tracks like it aint' nothin. When that race ran out of time and fell apart organizationally Steve was the only guy with enough confidence to do like Ken Kesey says, just turn your back and walk away from a bad thing. The next year things were a mess again at Silverton and the course was crap but hanging out with the folks from Tahoe, Bob and Nickey and Peggy Hopkins, (maybe I'm getting the years mixed up?) was way cool and I got an invite to hang out and go climbing and flying around Tahoe. So that I did and running into Steve at Squaw I got the hugely cred-boosting greeting from Steve as he walked by, "hey Gordy when did you get to Tahoe!" and later going over to Steve's house with Bob to watch the movies of Silverton and Everest I think, and steve showing off Tamara's trophys and pics, he was pretty proud of his sister.
I got cut for being pretty shakey at the race on the jumping hill at Squaw, it was the qualifying eace for the 82 Silverton race. I was pretty bummed and but wrote a letter asking for a bye into Silverton based on my past experiance. Steve was the first to sign it and got some other top guys to sign it for me. I'll never forget that support. Didn't make it that year though anyway.
Anyway thanks for posting this CraIg, i never saw anything about Steve on the internets before and he was the most amazing guy I met skiing, there should be something for sure, besides our memories. You guys were so lucky to really know the guy.
240gordy, Vancouver
|
|
zBrown
Ice climber
Chula Vista, CA
|
|
I did not know Steve McKinney, only of Steve McKinney. An amazing man. My only "encounter" was at Mammoth Mtn. Steve went to the top, got off, pointed his skis down and never made a turn. I could not f'ing believe it, but the truth of his life from what is posted here shows this just to be kids' stuff. Steve Jobs just passed on and the accolades haven't stopped. I don't recall such an outpouring when Steve McKinney left us. What a shame.
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!