Monthly Archives: December 2013

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Determination – Ski The East

photo70_STE-SP-STEphotophoto I saw an interesting sticker on a guy’s helmet the other day that said,” Ski The East.” Being the inquisitive one that I am, I went on-line and found a really good website http://www.skitheeast.net The fellows that run this site are film makers who feature eastern skiing and have developed their site to include stickers, clothing, and other merchandise and generally provide a good vibe on all that is ……Eastern Skiing in the U.S. So what is so interesting about skiing in the East? Anyone who has skied out west knows the sunshine, the powder, the warm days, the expansive resorts, and if you ask anyone, they will tell you the west is the best…….or is it? Depending on your perspective, the East can offer what the young people call “stoke” and provide at least a memorable ski experience.

I was indoctrinated into eastern skiing right here in Pennsylvania as I have related in many past posts. In my early days, we had wooden skis and leather boots and the edges were suspect to say the least. We have this interesting weather cycle that brings us cold weather and snow off of Lake Erie and occasionally one of those clippers from Canada collides with a slow moving low pressure system that will dump some considerable snow on our area. But on the back side of those Canadian high pressure cells, warm air is pumped up from the south which allows for melting during the day and freezing at night which causes…….ICE!! Sometimes those Canadian highs are not powerful enough to overcome a slow meandering low pressure cell from the Gulf Coast that will shuffle northwards and bring rain that all but destroys the good snow from previous storms. We have to live with these cycles and in the old days, there was a lot of skidding, sliding and general, uptight, sphincter puckering runs down our icy,limited vertical, Pa. slopes. We learned how to deal with those adverse conditions and in the typical Northeast Puritan way of looking at things, it made us better skiers and also made us appreciate the good weather and the new phenomena called snow making.

Fast forward through the years of metal skis, leather buckle boots, and rocketing into the modern age, I found myself skiing in the college years in New England. Places like Cannon Mountain in New Hampshire often had similar weather cycles and the marble like surface on rather steep pitches made it challenging. I found myself teaching skiing after college at Sugarloaf, Maine as I have related in past posts. Even that far north, the weather can be fickle and you can experience the frozen clear surface on runs like the Narrow Gauge which quickly make you realize the value of a sharp edge on a ski. There are a lot of “how to” You Tube videos out there on ski tuning but my main instructor over the years has been my friend Eric who is a born and bred Vermonter. Those Killington guys sure know how to razor up a pair of skis and I still have the original vices that Eric gave me on my ski bench in my garage. A little weekly maintenance on skis can surely make a difference when the weather turns interesting. New Englanders are stoic in their description of ice. Woody Woodward, my old PSIA Examiner friend from Maine used to call it “scratchy.” ” Yea McCloskey, it is a bit scratchy out there today. Your bad habits will be exposed out there today don’t you know.” Like the New England weather, that crusty old Mainer was relentless but a good teacher and a good skier. Heck of a fireman too.

I took my PSIA Certification Exam at Killington years ago, but I will never forget the rains that fell in the first few days. Peter Duke,an examiner at the time, who went on to create SmartWool and Point 6 socks, introduced me to Bukflex which was the waterproof material that made up a sailing suit. It kept him dry and I went out and immediately bought one for that test. Wouldn’t you know the first day of the test, the weather turned really cold and the Bukflex was replaced by every bit of warm clothing I had. Cascade was a sheet of ice and the skiing part of the test was conducted on that slope with examiners licking their chops at the potential pitfalls ready to strike at each of the candidates. Fortunately I survived and my Maine training and even my lifelong familiarity with ice in Pa. helped me. One thing about rain, if you can keep yourself dry, the snow is usually soft and the skiing is rather enjoyable. Bukflex has now been replaced with Pro Gore Tex from Patagonia and last week the 59 year old kid skied in the rain and was bone dry. The same cannot be said for the poor saps who paid for the lift ticket and tried to stay dry in a garbage bag. If you related that story to a westerner, they would think you were nuts. They don’t ski on cloudy days and would never consider even thinking about rain. The skiers in the Cascades have to deal with it and are hearty enough to ski in the rain, but most westerners are spoiled with their perfect conditions. I chuckle when I hear them say it is “icy.” I tell them I am from back east where the black shimmering ice with last fall’s leaves staring up at you though the glass like surface is………….”ice.”

Grooming equipment has vastly improved over the years with tilling attachments and the glare ice of old can be groomed out making the skiing much more predictable. But nonetheless, the eastern skiing experience is for the determined, the hearty, the crusty, toughened, eastern souls who will ski no matter what because it is ingrained in their DNA. Easterners love to ski and no matter if it rains, snows, sleets or freezes to below zero temperatures, you will see these hearty souls out on the slopes battling the elements with a maniacal smile on their face. Even the ones that move out west can be spotted a mile away. They carve turns and utilize the edges when they don’t have to do it in that pronounced manner. Instructors and patrollers in the chair often remark,” There’s an Eastern guy, he skis like he does on the ice.” But some of the best ski racers and skiers the country has ever known are easterners. They had determination on their faces and their eastern hardpack skills launched legendary careers. The 59 year old kid is not legendary by any stretch of the imagination but my determination to ski anything in any condition is something that has been an aquired taste. I love to make turns and as long as the conditions don’t destroy my equipment, you will find me out there with the Gore Tex smiling like a butchers dog. I really smile when I get out west and enjoy what those folks get all the time. They won’t return the favor over here though. Can you blame them? Think snow and thanks for reading.

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The Art of the Change

IMG00214-20100708-1448IMG00053photophoto I met a friend of a few years ago and he was amazed that I was fully dressed to ride mountain bikes after driving from work. He was sitting in the lot in his business casual dress and I was patiently waiting for him to get ready. He inquired how it was that I left work in similar attire and now was fully dressed to ride? I told him that similar to being in shape and concentrating on fitness, you also need to be well skilled in what I call “The Art of the Change.”

SUVs, like my Jeep, facilitate this type of behavior in that you need some room to switch from business clothes to recreational clothes. The proper use of red lights and putting the vehicle in park are key elements to this skill- but I will refer to that later. Let’s talk for a moment about some of the classic changes that have taken place in my life.

One time I was sitting in the parking lot of the OSI Meat Company near Salt Lake City after a successful meeting. My co-worker said, ” We didn’t get our tour of the plant” and I said,” You drive- I have seen enough meat plants in my day and we are 8 miles down canyon from Alta Ski Resort.” As she took the helm of the rental SUV, I quickly made the Superman like change from sport coat and slacks into my ski gear and asked her to pull into the Cliff Lodge at Snowbird. I told her to get a massage and that I would be back to get her at 5:00 so that we could drive to the airport to get our flight to Las Vegas for a trade show. She was dumbfounded but amazed at the plan and to her surprise- in no time I was back to pick her up and was dressed in slacks and a sweater. I told her,” Great afternoon pounding the High Traverse, Eagles Nest and High Rustler and look, ready to go to the airport.”

Another co-worker was with me on a week long trip to our Salt Lake City location for the company. Every day after work, I would drive her up to Park City and tell her to meet me at the parking location in 2 hours. We then would have dinner and enjoy the town before the return trip back down Interstate 80 to the hotel. She saw me remove my mountain bike, which I had brought on the plane with me, and as she walked away, she noticed clothes flying in the car and voila- another Superman change. When she returned to the car I was standing there putting on some shorts behind the car door( some decorum is necessary some of the times) and a T-shirt and some deoderant so that I would not totally gross her out and off we went to get a cold one at the Wasatch Brewery and a burger. This similar routine allowed a full day of work, 2 hours of great riding up at Park City and a beer and a good meal before we got up and did it all over again every day of the week. She was astonished and said,” Pat- if you would not have taken me up there every evening, I probably would have just stayed in my room and done nothing.” I said, “Jamie- you need to enjoy every moment in life. Carpe Deium girl.” She laughed and shook her head in amazement.

One time the Art of the Change was challenged by an Ambridge,Pa. police officer as I was coming from skiing in the Laurel Highlands and dressing on the fly for a funeral in Ambridge. At one point, I was down to my boxer shorts and the lights from the police car came into full view in my rear view mirror. I pulled over to the side of the road like a good motorist and scrambled with my dress shirt and suit pants as the officer came to the window. He greeted me and fortunately did not notice my bare feet on the gas pedal. He said,” Not you sir- the guy behind you is who I wanted.” ” Thanks for pulling over though and have a nice day.” I returned the pleasantries and sighed with relief that he had not seen me two minutes earlier driving down Rt. 65 basically in my birthday suit.

One other time, I was in the Reno Airport and frantically ripping through my bag to put on my ski clothes right at the carousel. People laughed as I strapped on my ski boots and schlepped my skis and bag to the curb to be picked up by my friend Eric to ski up at Mt. Rose. He laughed when he saw the blue Lange boots in the distance and said that he had only missed three runs when we arrived back at the area. That quick carousel change assisted us with gaining some valuable vertical feet.

One thing about cycling and skiing is that you spend some time changing clothes to participate in the apres activities. As important as it is to be able to change out of your clothes, it is perhaps more important sometimes to be able to quickly change into your clothes especially if you are meeting some folks and you are late. This is where the Art is fully employed. Traffic lights are the friend of any car changer and it is most important to know what can be accomplished between red and green lights. After putting the car in park, a shirt change, sock change,and cycling short change can easily be accomplished. Ski pants can take a little longer and your timing must be perfect otherwise you travel “au naturale” until the next light allows the completion of the change. If you are really skilled, you can even put in your contact lenses between traffic light cycles. But safety first!! I have often been tempted to change by steering with the knees and completing a final change cycle but I consider that like texting and driving and opt for the completion down the road a bit. Some things can throw you off like a big toe stretching the lycra of cycling shorts down to the brake pedal. Or perhaps a ski sweater put on inside out. Or even a clumsy change of a sock. But the better you get, the more you can utilize traffic lights, heavy traffic, and quick pull-offs to a rest stop on the Interstates.

One of my mantras is to always pack what you need before your day starts. A rookie would stop at home first and risk having a series of “honey-do’s” befall him or her. You can get sidetracked if you do not focus on your exercise after work by the faux pas of not packing ahead of time. Similarly you do not want to sit around drinking a post ride or ski beverage still attired in your workout or ski clothes. The change is necessary for full comfort and the more skilled you are at the Art of the Change, the better the experience and with a little effort, you can enjoy some things that you might not have even considered. Timing is everything in life and you must reach out and go for the gusto. Use your vehicle or rental vehicles for the appropriate changes, be courteous to your fellow travelers but never let decorum stand in the way of a good time. If they catch a glimpse of your Steeler boxer shorts, so be it. Life is short- grab it for all its worth. Thanks for reading and use those red lights.

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Christmas with the “A” Team

photophoto I had to take time out from my outdoor posts to tell you about the “A” Team which were my parents and their friends, especially at this time of year. My house growing up was always filled with people and my folks were the consumate entertainers. My mom was a wonderful cook and my dad was a great provider and helpful sidekick to my mom’s entertainment skills. When they built the house in Wexford, they upped the ante a bit and built a swimming pool which took the daily party to another level. A lot of people spent weekends and holidays at my parents home and it was not unusual for me to wake up and see a guy in a tux having a Bloody Mary after my mom had invited him to breakfast after a big night on the town. My mom sang with the orchestras at the parties at the University Club and Shannopin Country Club and usually made friends with some of the musicians. The party usually continued after hours with some strays eventually making their way to our house.

The big party every year was the annual Christmas Party. It started when I was a young lad at our house on Siebert Road. The preparations were amazing with the cooking, cleaning, stops at the liquor store, beer distributor, and bakery. This began weeks in advance of the party and it was all hands on deck. The first shift on Christmas Eve was usually the McCloskey clan with my aunt and uncle and my cousins. They came early and enjoyed themselves and when they left, the cleaning and regrouping began in earnest in anticipation of the arrival of my maternal grandparents and a steady stream of my mom’s relatives and their friends. I assumed the role of piano player, dishwasher, bar re-stocker and general cleanup guy along with my sister who had a habit of getting dishpan diarrhea and disappearing during the brutal pot washing scenes. Sally Rose, my mom’s good friend, assisted us with this role and it was amazing to see how many times the same pot came back to be cleaned again. Some real characters came to our house during this annual soire’ including one of my dad’s friends who had a habit of coming overserved and fell into the Christmas Tree. The party would not be the same if he did not make this spendid grand entrance. My dad made a hell of an egg nog which annihilated people after a couple of cups including my mother’s cousin who I always caught trying to put his ignition key into the side window of his car. I gently escorted him back to the house and eventually always took him home.

The house in Wexford was where the party began to get rather large because of my mother’s benevolence. It was a good thing that I learned to make a good Manhattan at age 10 and generally knew my way around bar service at our house. I assisted the bar tenders during off shifts at the piano and when I look at that piano today in my living room, I wonder how many Manhattans, beers, gin and tonics, and other alcoholic beveages have been spilled in the keys over the years. ” Play White Christmas…damn it” was a usual request as the liquid came cascading over my fingers and into the keyboards. The egg nog was rather sticky but I soldiered through and probably logged more hours than I care to remember keeping the music going at the party. If there ever was a Patrick Dennis it was me and my mom was surely Auntie Mame. I accompanied her on the piano and it was always a welcomed respite from the rather off key carols that resonated in our living room. I knew the party was eventually getting out of hand over the years when one guy who was a son of one of my folk’s casual friends pushed me out of the way going to the bar to get a drink. ” Who the hell are you?” he slurred. I expained who I was and introduced myself. He almost fell into me apologizing and telling me what a great party it was. He was a bit of a close talker and based upon his alcohol consumption, my face probably would have not passed a sobriety test after our conversation.

Usually the last of the revelers left at about 4:00 AM and after a huge day of entertainment, my sister and I sat down and looked at each other and said,” Well- 364 days until we do it all over again. My mom,” Christmas Carol” loved the holidays and even though the party was a collossal family effort, it was always fun and everyone had a great time. My folks invited a lot of people who had personal troubles, financial troubles, no one to celebrate the holidays with, and other various things that make Christmas a sad affair for some. My mom always remembered them and oftentimes they said to her that the party was the highlight of their Christmas. My folks were always generous and exhibited that wonderful Christmas spirit of giving and of love. After all, isn’t that what Christmas is all about anyhow? As I think back, my parent’s house was always an oasis for friends and especially friends who needed a friend. My mom always had two great sayings. ” Happiness is like a perfume, you can’t sprinkle on others without getting a little on yourself.” ” To have a friend is to be a friend.” Christmas Carol and her rather large benevolent elf- my dad, alway knew the meaning of being a friend. Perhaps that is why the Christmas party was always a hit. People liked to be with my folks.

Years have passed. My folks and most of their friends are gone. But when I go to that piano in my house in the quiet times, the Christmas Carols that come out of that old spinet bring me back to the days of Christmas past. Lots of hours have been logged on that piano and I keep it going for Janet, Jack and my in-laws. I get the keys rolling for our friends too but to date, none of them have ever fallen into our tree. Must be because we are not……………”The A Team.” Thanks for reading and have a wonderful and blessed Christmas and Holiday Season.

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The Lost Ski Areas

800x600px-LL-cf36c16a_DSCF4404800x600px-LL-dd1752d2_DSCF4395800x600px-LL-53de19e0_DSCF4407newaerialLaurel Mountain Ski Resort will be quiet this season TribLIVE If you peruse the internet, and look up http://www.nelsap.org, you will find a site dedicated to the preservation of the memory of ski areas in New England that have been closed due to financial and weather related problems. There are many pictures of these “lost” little areas and the site has expanded from New England to New York State, New Jersey, Quebec, Alberta, Colorado, Washington, and Pennsylvania. The sweat equity of the founders of these areas and their passion for skiing was oftentimes not enough to overcome the financial pressures of taxes, electricity, diesel costs, maintenance of lifts and lodges, and payroll. I remember and have skied a lot of these little areas in my time and one of the most memorable was Laurel Mountain in Ligonier, Pa.

Laurel was founded in 1939 and opened to members of the Rolling Rock Club in 1940. The Mellon Family built a beautiful lodge which subsequently and tragically burned in later years. The area opened to the public in 1958 and eventually was turned over to the state in 1964. The Department of Natural Resources ran the area for a number of years until some private management firms tried their hand at running the resort. Weather and financial difficulties forced closings in many ski seasons and the last attempt was made by Seven Springs Resort in the 2004-2005 season. Unfortunately a warm winter accompanied by low skier visits forced the closing of Laurel Mountain up until the present day. There are rumors of re-opening but at this point- only rumors.

Laurel was always a mountain adventure to me. When I was a kid, I remember going up Route 30 and making the right onto Laurel Mountain Road. It was like entering a winter wonderland in a forest setting with snow covering the trees and forming a tunnel all the way back to the ski area. I was mesmerized as a kid with all the snow and the family atmosphere of picnic lunches in the lodge, hot chocolates on the deck, and the fun of being in the mountains in a non-commercialized environment. In college, I taught skiing there as part of the Ski Academy and became friends with many of the state employees who ran the area. The State ran a pretty spartan ship at the time but the trails that meandered in the wilds of the Pennsylvania forest on the Laurel Ridge were a scenic trip back in time. This was how skiing was supposed to be. Family oriented, small snowy area with local charm pervading the scene. The big draw was Upper and Lower Wildcat which was one of the steepest runs in Pennsylvania. At only 900 vertical feet, it still packed a whollop as a challenging run that you could ski all day and never be bored. Occasionally, you would take the surrounding trails for variety and make your way to the main chairlift that serviced the Wildcat slope. There were times when that chair stopped and if you were unfortunate enough to be at the bottom of the mountain, you either had patience and waited, or you began to walk up the trail to the top which was one heck of a workout.

When my son was first learning, I took him to Laurel frequently and made a day out of skiing the trails and then eating lunch and stopping at the Pie Shop in Laughlintown at the bottom of the mountain. Coupled with trips to Fort Ligonier, I had a captive audience with him as I explained the nuances of the French and Indian War which was fought in the very woods that we were skiing. As we ate our apple pies the conversations were either about his skiing progress for the day or the battle at the fort and how George Washington, and Generals Braddock and Forbes played a significant role for the British in the area. I often said that aside from skiing a great little mountain with my son, the better part of the day was the travel to and from Ligonier. It was good father and son time and I will never forget that opportunity that this lost ski area gave me as a father. Many picnic lunches were eaten by the McCloskeys at that lodge at the top of the mountain and the Midway Cabin with its hot chocolate and goodies from the Pie Shop oftentimes was the highlight of the ski day at Laurel Mountain. The snow, the views into the Laurel Valley, and the family atmosphere will never be forgotten.

We often see and ski the big major resorts in the west and New England. We marvel at the money spent on lodging, snowmaking, high speed lift expansion, grooming, and the marketing of the ski experience at a large ski area. Skiing has become a huge commercial offering with investments being made by large firms outside the ski industry. Every year, ski areas compete for the business of families, singles, couples, and company outings. The pressure to be competitive and profitable is intense as ski areas are run as a business and not out of that family oriented, local community ethos that started the “lost’ ski areas of old. I love the opportunities and ammenities of the big areas but I get nostalgic for the history of the sport that was honed in the smaller areas with the slow chairs, limited snowmaking and grooming, and that family atmosphere that was created by the founders of the original ski areas. Skiing Laurel Mountain was like traveling back in time. It was how skiing was meant to be and I can only hope that someday, someone will recognize the value of that gem in the Laurel Highlands and think about overcoming the odds and investing in a worthwhile skiing experience. I can remember asking Herman Dupre (former owner of Seven Springs) why he would not develop Laurel Mountain and he said,” Pat- sit down here and I will give you 38 reasons why.” I listened as Herman was a very successful engineer and businessman. I can see how the area could become one of the lost because of the varied encumbrances that halt its development. But someday, there will be someone who will take the challenge, even if it might not make economic sense, and reopen Laurel and reopen that portal to the past. Think snow and thanks for reading.

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The Adventures of Four Wheel Drive

Google Image Result for http--www.allpar.com-photos-jeep-grand-cherokee-jeep-liberty-jet.jpg (2)Ross_TX_89Blazer_1RR1979_International_Scout_II_For_Sale_Front_resize So, the other day I was coming home from Kansas City and had a rear wheel drive rental van at my disposal because my Jeep was in the shop for repair. When I got back to the airport in Pittsburgh, it was snowing like crazy and I was treated to an adventure in driving on the way home. The two wheel rental van was less than optimal to say the least and I really was looking forward to getting my Jeep back.

I have been driving four wheel drive vehicles since I was in my early twenties. I used my mom’s Buick in my teens to go to the mountains with heavy snow tires and sand bags in the trunk. I had some driving adventures in Western Pa. and West Virginia but the moment I went to four wheel drive, I felt a lot more secure………..in certain instances. My first vehicle was an International Scout. It was a heavy, reliable bucket of bolts which I used to haul my friends out of trouble with my trusty tow strap. I thought that since I had a four wheel drive, especially an International, it was my responsibility to haul everyone out of the mud or snow when they got stuck. One time up in the mountains, I saw a black limo standed in the ditch at the entrance to Seven Springs Mountain Resort. I pulled in front of the guy in a raging blizzard and got under his vehicle with my ski school uniform on and proceeded to hook up my tow strap to the vehicle. I went to the window and the driver said,”thanks man” and kept looking straight ahead. I managed to pull him on to the road and when I went to the car, uniform dirty and greasy from the road, the Mayor of Pittsburgh was in the back seat and gave me a flippant “thank you” and told the driver to get going because he was late. There I was in my dirty uniform at the side of the road, soaking wet from snow, and all I got was “thank you” and basically get the hell out of the way – lubehead. My introduction to the fact that graciousness is not always first and foremost for some people for whom you do a favor. But I continued my benevolent ways with my strap.

When I drove Chevy Blazers, I used them in a slightly different way in that my friend Bob Dresher and I used to set the land speed record to Vermont from Wexford. Not the best way to treat a new engine but 90 MPH on the New York Thruway with the radar detector tuned in made for a short trip to go skiing. Several of those trips were slowed by sleet, freezing rain in Buffalo, and feet of snow going from New York state into Vermont to ski. The Blazers were large vehicles and it was convenient to take every bit of gear with me on the Northern treks. They were great to sleep in as well in the parking lots of ski areas especially with a sleeping bag that goes down to -40. I still have that bag but the Blazers are long gone.

I learned real quickly that four wheel drives climb real well but can slide like a mother when the snow is greasy, especially if you make the mistake of trying to get one more winter out of a set of tires. I had a Mitsubishi Montero for a while and had my son in the car seat when I started to slide down Highland Avenue near my house. I remained calm and aimed the slider towards the first open yard that I saw and came to a rest right in front of a stranger’s house. The same Mitsubishi also almost went over Wagner ski slope at Seven Springs when I began to slide sideways trying to park at the top of the mountain for a mountain bike race. Had it not been for the gravel road right in front of the chalet at the top of the slope, I proably would have had to bail out of the vehicle and watch it roll over and over towards the ski lodge. The good Lord was watching over the kid that day for sure. Yikes!!

My Honda was a fun vehicle and one time my family and I were traveling to ski up in Western New York with some friends. It was snowing like crazy again when we started our trip north and we watched four wheel drives flying by us on the way up. My son was a young teenager at the time and I was already starting to tell him about the virtues of driving cautiously. I asked him to mark the vehicle in his mind when they passed us and predicted that they would have an issue with the roads ahead. Sure enough, every one of those drivers were in the berm in the middle of the interstate stuck up to their doors. The tow strap did not come out in those instances for a number of reasons but suffice to say that my son got the message about four wheel drives and their supposed invincibility.

Currently I am a Jeep man and there is something about driving a Jeep. You kind of have a swagger like ,” yea- I have a Jeep and I load it up with firewood and mulch up to the ceiling” ” It is a manly vehicle and even though it is like all of my other four wheel drives with the musty smells and mud from mountain bike excursions and wood chips constantly raining from the seats, it fits my personality. I like tough vehicles and in my Walter Mitty mind, it makes me the true mountain man. My wife says I kill our vehicles but it is better than me driving a Cadillac or a Lexus. That would be like putting slippers on a hog. I am a four wheel drive guy.

Three years ago I had finished skiing with my friends in Tahoe and we all went to dinner in my friend’s four wheel drive van. I was the designated driver that night and while we were at dinner, it snowed 2 feet. Not unusual for Tahoe but it was a challenge to get the van out of the parking lot and on to the road. I white knuckled it down the road and large four wheel drive trucks passed me like I was standing still. Two feet of snow at any one time is nothing for the folks in the Sierra and I got used to the fact that driving is driving and if you respect the conditions and the limitations of the vehicle, you can make your way. It is all relative and the more you drive in the winter, the better you get. But as I tell my resident 18 year old driving expert in my house that he needs to be careful on the roads when it snows, I do need to let him experience what my folks let me experience. Driving the ’64 Buick in the winter taught me a lot and when I graduated to the four wheel drive world, I was a happy guy. So, be careful driving in the winter and respect the conditions and the limits of your vehicle. But enjoy the winter and be glad that there are vehicles out there that you can enjoy and get to the places that you love. Think Snow and drive safely! When you see my son, tell him the same.

One final reminder- if you follow my blog on WordPress, make sure you click on the title to see the pictures. Otherwise, you will only have my drivel to visually enjoy. Thanks for following.

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Vermont Fancy Grade

maple_syrup_LRGbreakfast_72dpi1-280x260centerfold_web One of the more delectible treats that I have enjoyed over the years has been Vermont “fancy grade” maple syrup. My fascination with syrup began in my wandering days in the Northeast when I first tasted good syrup in the Keene Valley on my way through the Adirondacks. A lot of the restaurants on the way to the ski areas served locally produced maple syrup with their breakfast. Once you taste this treat, you will never go back to Aunt Jemima again. Working up at Sugarloaf,Maine on the ski school, I was introduced to the Maine version in the little diner in Stratton, Maine. I had the experience of comparing the Maine produced syrup to the Canadian version and was fast becoming a connoisseur of all things maple.

This fascination continued with my introduction to truly quality syrup through my friends the Durfees when they lived in Bethel, Vermont. I had the pleasure of tasting Vermont “fancy grade” and its light color and texture was really something on a stack of buttermilk pancakes. The Durfees use it on oatmeal, and ice cream as a topping and Eric showed me his grandfather’s method of soaking original bricks of shredded wheat in water, draining them, and drizzling fancy grade on the cereal, including the obligatory banana, and pouring on the milk. I met Eric’s neighbor who made syrup and the process is truly fascinating. There is a lot of manual labor involved especially if the producer is old school. Galvanized collection buckets are used and the sap is removed when they are full and deposited into a central collection tank for transportation to the sugar shack. The long and the short of it is once the sap is collected, it is boiled in the shack over a log fire and the water evaporates and what is left is the syrup. Eric’s neighbor had a maze of galvanized channel which allowed the introduction of the sap into the top of the maze, and as it made its way down the maze that was heated by the fire, it became more viscous and eventually at the bottom of the maze it was collected as syrup. The fancy grade is the lightly cooked product which has not become carmelized as the process develops in the boiling procedure.

I became a syrup snob. I would take my syrup from Vermont and pour it into a small jar to be used at Len and Peg’s on Rt. 149 in New York state when I visited my friend Mike Smith in Lake George. He laughed at me and said I was nuts but let me tell you, Len and Peg’s pancakes never tasted better than with the fancy grade.

Working in Pennsylvania in later life, I made friends with a guy in Guys Mills, Pa. who made his own syrup. I started to buy his syrup and enjoyed it. My ski buddies and I would go to Meyersdale and eat the local fire hall out of house and home when they had their springtime pancake breakfasts. I can remember the old guys serving us and how they turned up their eyebrows when we ordered another stack. Somerset county supposedly produces more maple syrup than any other region in the country which is an open, festering, maple syrup wound that my friend Eric contests every time I bring it up. But his wife Helen backs me up being a Somerset native and the heated discussion continues every time I bring up the sore subject. I am not sure if it is correct or not but it sure makes for some fun with my pal Eric.

My local grange serves a really good buckwheat pancake breakfast in the spring and I always bring my own jar of fancy grade to the breakfast on my way to the ski slopes. Those old farmers and their wives love it when I bring it and share it with them. I kid them and call it Vermont cocaine. They laugh rather reservedly as farmers do, but when they dig in, they smile at me and tell me to come back for more. That breakfast is a great start to another ski day in the Laurel Highlands.

I have made a habit out of ordering fancy grade from Pauline Couture in Vermont. Her family produces really good syrup and I found them on the internet. http://www.maplesyrupvermont.com She has a great website and her family’s bed and breakfast is very appealing if you happen to be in the North Country of Vermont. All in all, get some of that good Vermont cocaine er ah syrup and enjoy the fancy grade. You will never eat that Log Cabin or Aunt Jemima corn syrup based swill again. Also, check out a maple syrup producer some time. It is interesting to see the different methods of collection and production. Recently, I saw a network of pvc tubing used to interconnect maple trees to a central collection area. This eliminated the use of the collection buckets. But in my mind, I always picture the galvanized buckets and the horse drawn sleigh taking the sap to the sugar shack.

Eric and Helen still get their syrup from Vermont and whenever I visit them in Nevada, their current residence, they always have the good stuff on hand for me to enjoy. Yes, I am a snob but I earned my stripes with Adirondack, Pennsylvania, Canadian and finally Vermont’s finest in my gastronomical experience. Go order some syrup from Pauline. Tell her the 59 year old kid from Pa sent you. Thanks for reading and think snow.

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The Attack from the Back

us%20ski%20team.finals2013photo I just came in from my hike in the snow and although it was pleasant, I am dying to ski. I have been out once, but the weather around here has not been consistent for the season to open full scale. So, I placate myself watching all the ski racing on TV and I DVR all of them. I just watched Ted Ligety, our US Team star slay all in the GS at Beaver Creek and watched Lindsey Vonn make her second comeback of the season from knee injuries to finish 10th in a downhill at Lake Louise in Canada. These world class athletes are amazing in that they take their rehab seriously and want to win at all costs. They are not afraid to put it all on the line and risk injury for the reward of a gold medal. My friend Travis Durfee, who at one time was top ten in Downhill and Super G west of the Mississippi for several years and a member ofthe prestigious Far West team, always said that the difference between world class competitors and national class competitors was that fearless attitude to go as fast as they could and put it all out there risking all. Susan DiBiase, another friend, said the same thing about women racing dowhill in mountain biking. If you are not willing to take every risk, you will never reach the pinacle of the sport. She was a pro mountain biker and knew the game. Ski racing is a dangerous sport and I thought of my dabbling in it way back when, and how I was not willing to take those risks at all cost.

I was not a very fast ski racer. I came from the instructors background and although people said I looked smooth in a race course, I was not fast. Locally, we had several guys who were fast because they tried as hard as they could to beat each other every weekend. We had juniors, seniors and masters races at our local mountain. My group all grew up racing together and when we were in our twenties, we all raced as masters in the USSA races here and sometimes visiting our friends in New England. It was a lot of fun, but guys like Porter Scott, Bill Boucher, and Craig Jerome were the fast guys. They were the tops in our division and my friends Craig Morris and Tim Chappell and I were always chasing their times. We got smart and decided that while those guys were trying to kill themselves to beat each other, we needed to put two consistent runs together and we might end up in the money. Usually one of them or a couple of them would crash because they would be willing to put it all on the line and one or two of us would sneak in there and stand up for two runs and grab a trophy. People got to think we were good but really our strategy was to make sure we finished two runs reasonably fast and hope for the best. That hope was that one of the fast guys or two of the fast guys would crash. We called ourselves the attack from the back and oftentimes we got the trophy. I have a box full of trophies in the basement that are a testament to the fact that I could put together two smooth looking but not fast runs, but fast enough if the good guys tried to kill each other.

I got to see some really good guys when I ventured to New England to race with my friend Eric Durfee who was a really fast racer and had collegiate and Can- Am experience. He was a real ski racer and the guys in New England were a different breed and very competitive and very fast. When our crowd went up there, we got smoked. Even the fast guys. I would do NASTAR races with Eric at Mad River and Killington and would watch him try to destroy the pacesetter while I was just trying to win a gold pin. That is the difference. The fast guys in New England were competitive as all hell and wanted to win no matter what the venue. To this day, Eric is our fearless leader when we ski with him and his competitive nature and win at all costs, is still evident in his free skiing. His son Travis is the same and it is amazing to see these guys in action.

I have also had the good fortune to see World Cup races and see the best in the world. Just like any sport, it is enlightenling to see world class athletes and how they perform. I skied with Phil Mahre one day, who was our greatest male ski racer of all time along with his brother Steve. I got to see first hand how strong they were and how they effortlessly carved trenches in the snow and nothing threw them off balance. I thought I was pretty good on the snow but when I got to ski with world class guys, you quickly realize that these guys are on a completely different level. Ski racing hones good technique and the one thing that was always good about running gates even at my level, was it made your skiing sharp and the little bit of local competitiveness was not only fun, but it made you a better skier. Craig, Tim and I talk all the time about the attack from the back and how we succeeded at grabbing a trophy out from under the faster guys. Eric, Travis, Ted and Bodie would disagree with our philosophy by saying that if you don’t put it all on the line, you will never know what your potential is even if you crash out of a lot of courses. Bodie Miller was a classic example in that if he managed to stand up for two runs, he usually was in the money. He crashed more often than not but his willingness to win at all costs is what makes him world class. The 59 year old kid, unfortunately, did not have the talent or the will to do that. But skiers from the banana belt seldom reach those lofty heights anyhow.

Probably the only time I can remember putting it all on the line was when I was a kid and dove across the finish line at our little Standard Race to try to win the coveted gold 7 pin. I got my pin but took out the timing device and everyone in the lodge thought I had killed myself. Kind of a dumb way to try to be faster but I was proud to win that gold. When you were a fat little kid and you wore that gold 7, you had arrived. I got the bug, but the smooth looking turns eventually won out and the attack from the back was born. Hoping some snow comes our way soon or I will have to keep watching the fast guys show me how it is done. Think snow and thanks for reading.

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Trail Transformation

photophotophotophotophoto This summer and fall, the trails in the Laurel Highlands and our own trails in our county park were dry and flowy. The mountain bike riding was spectacular and even when the time change came, the night riding was done in rather temperate conditions. That all changed at Thanksgiving when the winds of November came blowing. The snow came and the trails were transformed into winter conditions. When this happens, it gives the 59 year old kid a chance to switch gears a bit and do more trail running and hiking. My friend EJ Sigety used to drag me out all winter on the trails to mountain bike ride no matter what the conditions, but these days, I use good judgement and enjoy the trails in different ways.

I spoke in one of my last posts about dialing it back a bit and that on occasion, it is a good idea. Hiking is very enjoyable way to dial it back and I see things on the trails that I don’t see riding in a pack or pounding up a hill in the heat with my eyeballs bulging out of their sockets. Hiking in the snow can allow you to experience the silence of the woods, and the smell of a distant fireplace. You can experience a buck eyeing you up as you enter his domain. The trails look different and the footing dictates that you carefully place your steps so that you remain upright. Where this transformation may discourage some folks from enjoying the trails in the winter- hiking, trail running and snowshoeing can be a great alternative to the riding that we enjoy most of the year. I usually take my ski poles with me to help with the footing and balance in the icy conditions. These can also be used with snowshoes. Sturdy hiking boots are a must and I usually use my old reliable Vasque Hiker IIs that are 40 years old and still kicking. Dialing it back over Thanksgiving was enjoyable and I ran into some of my die hard friends who were still riding . They harrassed me but I enjoyed the hikes and was glad for a change.

Now if you are the hearty type and want to keep riding on the icy trails in the winter, you can use studded mountain bike tires as shown in the picture above. The new rage is the “fat bike” which has oversized tires that aid in the traction. These were developed originally to race in Alaska and have seen some major acceptance in the mountain bike community here in the lower 48. The curious thing about riding in the winter is that once you get going, the heat builds up and if the traction is good, you can enjoy a good ride when perhaps you would have thrown in the towel. Sometimes I will ride, other days I will run or hike. But the main thing is to keep enjoying the trails and the woods in all seasons and have the mental and physical preparation to do so. My friend Mark “the Shark” Sauers has a great expression for winter as well. He says there is never bad weather……only bad clothing. I would agree in that if you have the right winter weather gear, you can be comfortable even if the conditions are raw. Gore Tex, wool socks, good winter riding shoes, trail running shoes or hiking boots can make all the difference in the world and allow for that “go for it” attitude that you need in the winter. Good lights as described in my earlier posts about night riding can make a big difference too. There are a lot of good choices for lighting that are essential for enjoying the trails after dark. I try to avoid indoor exercise at all costs and good water proof clothing can allow outdoor activities even in the coldest, winter rain or snow. You get that fresh air, good exercise, come home and take a hot shower and sleep like a baby. Nothing like it.

Winter is just starting so why not think about continuing to use the trails at your own pace and sometimes with different tools. Nobody is going to think badly about you if you put the bike away and run or hike. Just as long as you do something and not let the winter get you down or allow for added padding which is painful to lose in the spring. Hydration is important as well. You lose a lot of moisture exercising in the winter and the need to drink fluids is as important in the winter as it is in the summer. Take your hydration pack with you at all times. Chistmas is coming folks and maybe Santa has some new equipment for you to use. Gear up, pick your poison on exercise, and enjoy the winter. Thanks for reading and think snow.

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“Play us a Christmas Song or else I’ll………….

photophotophoto Well this weekend was the opening day of ski season at our local area Seven Springs, and as I have done for the last 52 years, I made my way to opening day and met up with my ski group with whom I have skied for over 40 years. Some of these guys I see mountain biking and others I don’t reconnect with until the snow flies. But it is always good to see them, ski with them, and find out how the family is, what is new in their lives, and check out the new gear that they have. It is always great to make those first turns with waxed skis and tuned edges. Flex the ankles, push off, pressure the tongues of the boots and make that first carve. Ahh yes! What a great feeling and great to get a break to ski in November.

As I said my goodbyes for the day, I passed the Mountain Club on the way down County Line Road. My mind drifted to all the good times at that club playing the piano during the Christmas season. I will tell you a little more about that but first I need to explain my roots in music. My mother thought it would be a great idea for me to take piano lessons as a young child and as I made my way to Mrs. C’s house, I had some trepidations. I will not divulge Mrs. C’s name for reasons yet to be told. Mrs. C was a demanding Asian lady who knew full well when I did not practice my scales. She was very particular with my finger positions and demanded accuracy as I made my way through the octaves. On occasion, her mother would teach me and she had this interesting habit of passing gas during my scale interpretations. It was a little unnerving as I hit some real clunkers when she would bounce one of those gas bombs off the piano bench. I told my mom when I got home and in typical fashion, my mom gave me some BS by saying that it was acceptable in the Asian culture to pass gas and that I should not think a thing about it and just play my scales. I found that explanation unusual and soldiered my way through the lessons with old lady C as best as I could. I was thankful when I started to take lessons from a new lady down the street named Mrs. Manson. She was equally demanding in all respects but on occasion, her daughter Carlene would teach me. Carlene was a gorgeous grad student with long blonde hair and was a real stunner. As a young teenager with the hormones raging, it was again hard to concentrate during the chromatic progressions with her sitting right next to me. I often tried to get out of my lessons when I was playing football across the street but my dad called me to take a shower and get moving. As I walked down the street with my hair freezing in the wind, I always hoped that Carlene would be filling in. It was a good thing she was not sitting next to me in the recitals because the nerves would surely have detonated my piece and I would have embarrased myself by playing the cracks all during my turn at bat. Her boyfriend showed up one day and as a youthful brat, I was jealous. “I’ll bet he can’t play the Flight of the Bumble Bee as well as me!” I wanted to take him out, but he was a little large for me.

High school was fun with my piano playing moving towards Billy Joel, Elton John, and Leon Russell pieces. I could do them some justice but only in a crude high school manner of getting most of the notes right with the clunkers being ignored by my understanding friends. I really enjoyed playing for my mother whom I accompanied while she sang. My mom had perfect pitch and sang at the Pittsburgh Playhouse for years. It was a treat to accompany her and it gave her great joy to have me play for her. This led to many Christmas carol parties at my parents house but that will be the subject of another post. Suffice to say, I did my fair share of playing in high school.

Moving on to college, I continued to take lessons as electives. I studied under Mrs. Frederick Marantz who was a real professional. Her husband looked and played like Artur Rubenstein and it was a real joy to hear him play that Steinway in their living room. When the both of them played, I should have sold tickets. What a treat to hear those two people play with amazing talent and skill. I felt like such a rube when I arrived fresh from the tennis court in my t-shirt and shorts dripping on the Steinway. Mrs. Marantz was so kind by saying that it didn’t matter how I showed up as long as I had practiced. While her other students were playing classical pieces and preparing to enter Oberlin or Juilliard, I was playing Scott Joplin and ragtime piano. The Marantzes thought it was amusing and I was kind of a novelty at the recitals. But they all knew I was in it for the fun and my talent was limited. No Oberlin or Juilliard for me, but I could still bang out the ragtime or the Christmas carols when needed.

So, if we were fortunate enough to have snow between Thanksgiving and Christmas,the apres ski was a lot of fun. I was teaching skiing with my group on the weekends in my younger days, and Craig Morris our ringleader got a pickup truck filled with hay and we all would sing Christmas carols all over the mountain on one Saturday night before the holiday. Because of my limited training, I was the musical director and printed out all the song sheets. This became a pretty popular affair and the people on the mountain whose chalets we visited became incensed if we didn’t make a stop at their place to drain all of their beer and booze. It was like a rite of the season for our motly crew to visit and sing off key for their enjoyment. Their penalty was going to the beer distributor the next day to refill their fridges. Craig and I used to always put this show together and it ended up at the Mountain Club. The first year, I was a little shy to play the piano until I suddenly was placed on the piano bench rather abruptly by our skiing pal Joe Scott who in the holiday spirit said,” Play some Christmas carols or I will kick your ass.” We all laughed and I obliged and we drained all the resources from the club including food. We were a roving band of gypsies that’s for sure and as I drove down the mountain on opening day this year, I could still hear those carols as I passed the Mountain Club. It seemed to me that the sounds muffled as I approached the turnpike for the trek back to the burg. But those days will never be forgotten and it all started with the flattulance of an old lady and the beautiful strains of my mother’s perfectly pitched soprano voice. I am happy that I have that skill. I have had a lot of fun expecially during the holidays with it, and although I am no Rubenstein or Fred Marantz, I can play the cracks as well as anybody expecially on a beautufully polished Steinway grand piano. Don’t listen to me too critically and you will enjoy my enthusiasm even though the occasional clunker might resonate. Thanks for listening, er ahh reading. Think Snow!!!