Back in the mid-1990’s, when carving skis were first embraced as skiing’s next Savior, I used to argue vehemently with European product managers over their insistence that the meter-radius measurement was the best way to classify a ski according to its appropriate “Carve” genre. During this mini-epoch, the idea of the carving ski so intoxicated the Continental cognoscenti that the retail giant Intersport decreed that all skis had to be prominently marked by the manufacturer with its appropriate Carve category, such as Race Carve, Fun Carve or Super Carve. All consumer communication was to revolve around these categories, and the key to classification was the ski’s meter radius measurement.
I contended, then as now, that reducing a ski’s behavioral profile to a mathematical rendition of its sidecut does more to obscure the ski’s performance potential than define it.
Allow me to elucidate. The first pillar of my argument was that by designating a ski by its meter radius number the ski maker automatically incites in the consumer’s mind the notion that this is the arc that the ski makes, and no other; that a 15m-radius ski possesses an unlimited supply of 15m-radius turns but couldn’t compose a 20m arc if Ingmar Stenmark were guiding it. Even though the notion is disproved on virtually every run taken by any advanced skier, people cling to the idea that a meter radius number predicts every turn shape of which a ski is capable.
The biggest offense of the meter-radius measurement isn’t the information it misleadingly imparts, but the data it disguises. Far from being a behavioral predictor, the meter-radius measurement is merely a mathematical reformulation of the ski’s sidecut width differential as measured at tip, waist and tail.
Why not just give us all the raw data and save us the arid recalculation as a single number? What I want to know about the ski beneath me is its dimensions, and in particular its waist width, as that will tell me more about where this tool likes to travel.
Of course, waist width doesn’t tell the whole story any more than a meter-radius measurement does, but at least I have some idea where this ski likes to live, which is more useful information than suppositions about how it might like to turn. When the meter radius measurement was first promulgated as gospel, fat skis had yet to make a dent in the market. Virtually every ski made was under 70mm at the waist. (The “revolutionary” Salomon X- Scream was a mere 68mm underfoot.)
Those days are long gone, and with them the utility of meter-radius numbers as a reference for the buying public. It’s quite possible, even likely, for 78mm, 88mm, 98mm, 108mm, 118mm and 128mm waist-width boards to share the same meter-radius designation. Does that imply all these skis will somehow etch the same sort of arcs? If you believe that, I have a portfolio of historic bridges I’d like to sell you…
If the meter radius number still sounds important to you, consider how easily the skier can alter his or her turn shape with edge angle and deflection. Want a tighter turn? Add more edge angle and/or flex the ski more deeply. (The role flexibility plays in affecting turn shape explains why short meter-radius skis can make long turns easier than stiff, long meter-radius skis can make short turns.) Or simply get the same ski in a shorter length, as nothing affects turn radius as much as length.
To give the meter radius measurement its due, it does possess some descriptive value when the ski is narrow and being compared to another ski of similar girth and construction. Even the Euros I derided in the 90’s had a point: when comparing generally slender skis with not much else to differentiate them, the meter radius number was an interesting barometer, somewhat more useful than flex indices are on ski boots today in positioning one product vis-à-vis another.
But to pretend there will be important behavioral similarities between a rockered 108mm-waisted ski and a 70mm-waisted cambered carving ski that both possess a 22m measurement is ridiculous. If meter radius has a legitimate role in helping select among similar skis, why are my undies in such a knot about plastering it prominently on the ski’s topskin? Because consumers continue to seize on the number as an absolute even when other factors in the ski’s design have a far greater influence on its global behavior.
Just recently I observed a customer turn up his nose at a Blizzard Bonafide when he saw the “22m” emblazoned on its tail. It was a deal breaker before he could even imagine what makes the Bonafide one of the finest recreational skis ever made. I’m sure he’ll find happiness somewhere else, but his selection methodology is flawed at best.
If you breathe the rarified air of the racing world, meter radius measurements will continue to play a meaningful role in your life. If not, you’re best off forgetting about them as they have a way of missing the point once a ski grows in girth. For non-racers, I’d treat the data point as a bit of arcanum, something akin to knowing the ski’s weight in grams, rather than as a signature characteristic.