Category Archives: outdoor activities

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Enjoy the Ride

It is mud season now. April showers bring May flowers but for mountain bikers, it is a time for us to wait until the trails are dry so we don’t trash them for the rest of the summer. I bring out my road bike and begin the long process of trying to get in shape after a winter of maintenance trail running, snowshoeing and skiing. I can always ride in the rain on the road bike because I am used to the drill. If you don’t ride in the rain in Pittsburgh, you don’t ride much in the spring. Trust me, as I get older, the process gets a little harder but I am dealing with it in a more mature way which I will discuss in a short. Suffice to say, I don’t blast out of the parking lot these days. I ease on down the road.
As I meander on the country roads north of my house, I think back to the painful rides at this time of the year when I raced a road bike. It was always a chore to try to get in shape so that you didn’t get dropped on a training ride or in a race. You had to scramble just to be able to ride with your friends. As I daydream on my current rides, I think back to when I used to meet Art Bonavoglia, Frank Habay, and George Sagan up on Saxonburg Boulevard waiting for a crew to come up out of Shadyside in Pittsburgh. I slowly dragged my sorry butt out of bed and made my way to the meeting point where George, Art, Frank and I waited for the freight train that was coming. Scott Dismukes, a former track cyclist- strong as hell, Bob Gottlieb- Cat 2 rider of local fame, Barb Katzenburg-national class road racer, and Mike Alex- PHD candidate in Electrical Engineering at CMU riding a mountain bike with slick tires. These guys(and gal), could ride and when they came roaring up the road, you better be warmed up and ready to jump on the pace line or you were history. I would see them in the distance and sigh to my friends,” Here they come.” The pain began. photo
The destination was always Lake Arthur up in Butler County. These are beautiful country roads here in Pennsylvania but all I saw on those rides was the backside of someone faster than me in the paceline. As we exchanged pulls, ( mine were always the shortest), we made our way through pastoral fields and dairy farms. Virtually no traffic which made the ride as pleasant as it could be but the pace increased with each country mile. By the time I got to Prospect, Pa with a stop at the country store to reload on food, I was exhausted. I can remember laying on the sidewalk jamming Fig Newtons in my face and washing it down with Gatorade as fast as I could swallow. I looked at Mike Alex and said,” How the hell do you ride that fast on a mountain bike?” He said the slick tires helped but he was only being humble. I looked at Art, Frank and George and said, ” How am I going to make it back?” But I always managed it somehow. Fig Newtons and bananas were the Cliff Bars and Power Bars of the day. That type of energy food was not available yet. The Newtons and the bananas generally did the trick but when I pulled into my townhouse I was totally gassed. The killer crew left me and roared back to Shadyside logging in excess of 100 miles. photo

As I come back from my daydream on my road rides now, I am usually alone. I think back to that far away time in a galaxy far, far away. Painful spring rides, wool jerseys, leather hair nets, toe clips and cleats, downtube shifters, and steel road frames. Today I ease into my spring road rides. The equipment is lighter, smoother shifting, and carbon fiber rides a lot more comfortable than Reynolds tubing, although there is something to be said for the classic steel frame. I don’t stress myself. I don’t need to train. If a hill comes, I shift down and noodle up until I reach the top. I don’t have to do what Mac Martin used to tell me. ” Take it out of park McCloskey, and when you reach the top of the hill, don’t just coast- put the hammer down because your competition will be coasting behind you.” I don’t need that pain anymore as the 60 year old kid. My road rides now are enjoyable. I can look at the spring blossoms, ride in the softly falling rain, and really……enjoy the ride. home02
I mostly mountain bike these days but I must admit that I look forward to bringing out the road bike in the spring. It reminds me of my past and I definitely don’t have the pain that I used to go through at this time of year. Like life- I am now enjoying the ride. I see flowers, trees, farms, and sights other than the back of some guys lycra shorts. Haul that road bike out guys and gals, let the trails dry out. Thanks for reading.

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Rat Poison- keeps me in the game!

As I make my last ski turns for the year and prepare to put the boards away and get myself into riding shape for another spring season, I think about a prescription that has kept me in the game for 25 years. Did you know that a component of the chemical makeup of blood thinners is the same component that is in rat poison? It is funny, when I go to the pharmacy, I always ask them for my monthly dose of rat poison. They laugh because they know, as pharmacists, what I am talking about. What I am about to tell you is my experience only. My disclaimer here is that I am not a doctor. What I say here in the post is my experience and in no way a recommendation or any type of suggestion. You may make your own conclusions but “blood thinners” have kept me in the game. IMG_0136
It all started before I was married and I returned to the U.S. from a cycling trip to Ireland. I had crashed over there and then had a long plane trip back to the US. Nothing serious because I had crashed many times on a bike and thought nothing of it. But thinking back on this, I am sure that this series of events caused my initial DVT( Deep Vein Thrombosis.) I was at a party at Frank and Jan Habay’s house when I noticed that my calf was swelling and I had a dull pain that went from my calf all the way up my leg. Long story short, I went to my doctor and he said that although I was an extremely active person, he thought I had a blood clot in my calf. Sure enough after a simple dye test in my leg, it was determined that I had a DVT and that I had to be in the hospital on Heparin drip to “thin my blood” and then onto Coumadin therapy for a couple of months. I walked all around the hospital with the IV to keep my sanity and even wanted to take it over to Shadyside to get a corned beef sandwich, but they discouraged that. 🙂 They told me all about what my diet should be and not to eat too many foods that would interfere with Coumadin. Foods like green leafy vegetables that had lots of Vitamin K which would interfere. I watched my diet and swam for three months before I was off the therapy and the doctor gave me the green light to continue cycling. photo
Fast forward- 8 years later I was in a mountain bike race and when I came home that night, I had a stabbing pain in my back that would not stop. Janet was out of town and I drove myself to the hospital where my friend was working in the ER. Mike Mihok, a fellow cyclist, had a series of tests run and finally I had a angiogram which determined that I had a pulmonary embolism in my lung. Interesting side note is that the procedure was done by Doctor Wholey who invented the equipment for the modern angiogram. Very serious! I was back in the hospital on the Heparin drip and eventually Coumadin therapy again. Forever. My doctor at the time said that this was the ” gold standard” of treatment and he didn’t want me to throw any more clots. He liked my activities and as long as I didn’t take the big hit with some blunt force trauma, he said my skiing and bicycling were ok activities as long as I was careful. I still take a generic form of Coumadin today which has been no problem for me at all. I get my monthly tests to determine that my current dosage is satisfactory. But my lifestyle has not been compromised one bit except for the fact that I wear a compression sock when I am sitting or standing because when I am not active, my calf still swells a little bit. Alcohol is not recommended but my current doctor says as long as the beer is cold, I can have one or two. I always say ” One and done. Or Two and through” Although I usually drink one beer with a meal and at most a beer and a half. I eat a balanced diet and don’t concern myself with any food issues. Enough of the details and the background. Now for the point of all of this.
I am a very active person as I believe my blog testifies.IMG00375-20110730-0915 I take a generic prescription which prevents my blood from clotting too easily. Yes, I have cut myself shaving. Yes I have crashed on my bike. Yes I have crashed while skiing. Being careful is a relative term. But I have been no worse for the wear. My doc recently suggested a new drug which requires no monthly testing. But it takes 48 hours for the INR( clotting measurement) to return to normal. With Coumadin, a shot of Vitamin K will bring me back instantly. I have had no issues for 25 years with Coumadin or the generic equivalent. I am staying with it. My point which again, has no medical background, suggests that if you have an issue like mine which is becoming more prevalent in athletes, your life is not over. IMG_0178.JPG Several friends have inquired about this after their episodes and I tell them frankly that it has not been an issue with me. I am a good designated driver. I cycle, run, ski, hike with no issues. I was fortunate that both episodes for me were caught in time. God is good.photo This post may be a little dark but if any of you who have an issue or any of you who know of someone who has an issue, feel free to contact me. I would be happy to chat and relate my story and how my life is better through chemistry, with…………rat poison.photo Thanks for reading.

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Dusting Gunnar

It was a bright, sunny day last Sunday in Somerset, Pa. when the clan started to arrive. Heidi and Melissa, Annie and Biff, the Bouchers, Lars and Inger, the Baum girls, Linda Belle, Dixon, Porter,Patty, and a host of others who call the English family their friend. You could feel the warmth of long lasting friendships in the building and in many ways, the group was holding each other tight as mountain life enthusiasts do.11060297_10205067359516366_5866834607737862685_n Mountain people are a tight knit group all held together through a love of sliding down a mountain on skis, riding knobby tires, hiking, fishing, and otherwise enjoying the mountains as a place of rest, fun, and safe haven with friends.IMG_0582

We lost one of our own last Thursday when Brad English was taken from us so unexpectedly. That is why the gathering at the funeral home was in many ways a meeting of the clans from up in the Laurel Highlands. You had the locals, the weekenders, the commuters, all the folks who forged friendships up at Seven Springs Mountain Resort here in Pennsylvania. The North Hills group, the Fox Chapel group, the Mt. Lebanon group, and of course the Seven Springs and Rockwood group. All close knit friends for many years. It was a homecoming of sorts seeing that some of the group had moved away, but as everyone paid their respects to Greg and Mary Ellen English and their family and Brad’s lovely daughter Jenny, you could feel the warmth in the room and the need to hold on to our life in the mountains.1380110_10205067173871725_2086237601213283491_n Bill Boucher put it best when he said, ” This one really hurts.” And it did. Brad English was one of the good guys. A friendly welcoming man who grew up in the mountains, built his own house, raised his daughter, and was a friend to everyone on the mountain. He was the first guy standing in line at the Gunnar Chairlift every Saturday when I made my way from the North Face lot to the base of the Gunnar chair. Both of us enjoyed the first chair up the hill, and the groomed perfection that lies ahead for the early birds on the ski slopes. Brad had a great sense of humor when he harassed the ski patrol and lift operators to open the lift up early. He wanted to ski and in his own funny, needling way, the lift guys and the patrol scrambled to make his wishes come true. Brad was a skier, a hunter, a fisherman, all things mountain. Interestingly, when I was a young guy skiing at Seven Springs, the English brothers were in my estimation, the best skiers on the hill. Natural talent. Even when Brad did a stint living in Vail, I remarked out there that Brad was still one of the best skiers in Vail. He was an enthusiast, skilled skier, and sportsman. But most importantly, he was a friend. He was welcoming into his home, and was one of us and now he is gone. FullSizeRender

Tuesday there was an on slope service, which is what he would have wanted. Friends skiing, watching the celebration of life from the top of the chair, toasting with frosty beverages and literally and figuratively setting Brad’s spirit free to the Laurel Highlands which he loved so well. 10390199_10205067161071405_9122657908372867184_n The Gunnar Chair and slope will always be home to Brad. I will always think of him while riding that chair on Saturday mornings.

Life is so fragile and the message that kept ringing in my head was what my mother always told me. ” To have a friend is to be a friend.” That is why she had so many friends and it holds true with Brad English. Lots of friends on that mountain. Life flies by so fast and it is easy to get caught up in the day to day. Easy to never make plans to get together with friends, easy to let convenience get in the way, easy to let work schedules dictate your life. But in the final analysis, your family and friends are everything. Cherish them. Cherish the old times and keep the friendships alive with a phone call, a lunch, a ski date, or whatever. I am guilty as much as the next guy. But like Bill said, this one hurt. It makes you think when you lose a friend. Embrace opportunity. RIP Brad. Thanks for reading.

Photos and title courtesy of Melissa Updegraff Thompson and Annie Rose Swager.

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The Standard Race

For all of us growing up at Seven Springs Mountain Resort here in Pa., Lars Skylling, the Director of Skiing, was like a god to us. Handsome, with the Swedish accent, and great skier to boot, with Stein Eriksen form. We all looked up to Lars and wanted to emulate him on the slopes. Lars is shown here in this picture below, receiving his award for induction into the Pennsylvania Snow Sports Hall of Fame. He has the Tyrolean jacket on with the green tie- third from left in the back. Great guy, we all love Lars. He is retired now but I had the opportunity to ski with him a number of years ago in Vail and for a guy in his elder years, he still made elegant turns. IMG_4952
So, when we were kids, Lars was the ski school director and he started an open race every Sunday after the day session ended that was called the Standard Race. My buddy Porter said it was called the Head Standard Race but in any event, it was an open, four gate flyer from the top of the front side of the mountain down to the finish line in front of the old warming hut. If you came within a certain percentage of the time that Lars laid down, you received either a gold, silver, or bronze “7” pin that we all clamored for with every run that we made. As we all got older and into our early teens, we were able to finally get that gold “7” because we were catching up to the master. However, Lars threw a surprise for all of us when he added the upper trail on the Stowe slope and jumped the corner when he made a right hand turn down on the Cortina Trail. Whoa!!!!! We all were taken by surprise and the conversation on the hill that day and on the chairlift to the start, was whether we had the guts to jump the corner like Lars did. If we didn’t, there was no way we would get the gold, so we all had to see if we had the bravado to do it and if we survived, we got the coveted pin. photo
One year, I decided that if I leaned forward at the finish line and tried to break the beam with my hand, I might be a little faster. Unfortunately, I blew out of my bindings when I lurched forward and took out the whole timing device and the electric eye. John Fraser and his dad came running out of the hut to see if I was ok, but the real challenge was to get the timing device up and running again. As we all crossed the finish line, Bob Rose would herd us into the station wagon that he had strategically placed outside the warming hut, and the North Hills clan would eventually make it back to Pittsburgh with a dinner for the crowd at my folk’s house. My parents didn’t ski but they sure could cook and entertain. That was their contribution. All the kids talked about the race and how we ended up. If you got the gold pin, you were a stud, and everyone knew that the next step was the day that you would finally be able to beat Lars straight up. That day eventually came for most of us as we got older and faster. But no matter the outcome, we all loved Lars and if we were able to finally best his pacesetter time, it was a milestone in our skiing career that we would never forget. photo

The years have gone by but a lot of the guys who I still ski with at Seven Springs still have their pins. Porter, Jamie Edson, and me. Porter and Jamie proudly wear theirs in remembrance of an era gone by. NASTAR had taken over the citizen race arena with a much more sophisticated national ranking system and national championship. But the old Standard Race was a free form flyer that we all loved, and no matter what improvement we made with equipment upgrades, the prestige of that pin was something that is still remembered to this day. The Standard Race is a memory for all of us growing up at the last resort. So, Greg, Melissa, Jaime, Heidi, all the Dupre girls, Johnny Fraser, Johnny McCarthy, Andy, Richard Nicolette, the Rose clan ,the Edsons, Dixon, and the Siegle clan, ………….dig out those “7”s and wear them with pride. You cut the corner, you survived the races, and you got your pins. Thanks for reading and enjoy the winter.

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Ski the South- you may be surprised!

Back when I was a senior in college, I took the next step in ski instruction by taking a registration clinic in order to be affiliated with the Professional Ski instructors of America(PSIA). The closest one to me at the time was at Canaan Valley Ski Area in West Virginia. As I made my way south over the Mason Dixon line, I was thinking to myself that this was a strange place to go skiing. My experience up to that time, besides skiing in Pa, was either north to New England or west to Colorado. What was this going to be like? The back roads through the Monongahela National Forest were twisty and dark and I had visions of moonshiners, junk yard dogs, and other Appalachian thoughts where I would be lost in some “holler” and never to be heard of again. I was surprised at the beauty of West Virginia and when I got to the Canaan Valley, I was overwhelmed with the charm and the friendliness of the area and the people. “How y’all doin?” was not something I had ever heard from a liftie before and the clinic went well. The clinic leader was from Vermont and he stated to me that he loved coming south to ski because the resorts make a special effort to make sure that the snow conditions are as good as they can be given the challenging conditions of weather in that area. 7bf16d8ee7504bc98e7da791b93d6272

Fast forward and our Seven Springs crew made our way to Snowshoe Resort for the annual Cupp Run Ski Race. Snowshoe is a huge ski area with an elevation of over 5,000 feet. It has the topography of a small New England area and the Intrawest property is very well run with a lots of snowmaking capacity and a village that is built like Whistler at the top of the mountain. Our crew at the time was there for this annual race and although my ski instructor form in the race course was pretty, it never was fast. But I always had a good time traveling with some of our guys who were actually pretty accomplished racers. John Steitz, who had a pedigree of prep school and college racing, as well as the experience of coaching at Whiteface, went with us one year and won the race. His victory was pretty strong seeing that his main competition at the time was Hans Truckenbrod who was a Vermont based pro racer who always came south to cherry pick this classic race. Boy was he surprised when the “ragpicker” Johhny beat him and took first prize. John was not a slave to fashion as he raced in a wool hat with a hole in it from his dog eating it for breakfast. He also wore green wool pants and a flannel shirt. When he stood on the podium to collect his prize next to Truckenbrod, with his race attire and the third placed guy also looking splendid with his ski parka with sponsor patches, the photographer for Snowshoe looked at me and said, ” Well there goes the publicity picture.” We all laughed as our buddy the “ragpicker” cleaned house and took away the grand prize. Snowshoe puts on a great race and is a wonderful place to ski with surprisingly a lot of natural snow because of its elevation and the frequent southern storms that come racing through West Virginia. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euxtPs3TUJ4

Another great memory for me skiing in the south were my trips to see Frank and Jan Habay in Charlottesville, Virginia. They took us to Wintergreen which is a beautiful ski area in the ridges above Charlottesville. After eating my customary southern breakfast with grits, eggs, sausage and gravy, I was excited to try yet another southern ski area. I had a friend, Mark Singleton, who was the ski school director down there who welcomed us and informed us that the World Cup and Olympic champions, Steve and Phil Mahre, were skiing there that day as a publicity event for K2 skis. We caught up with the Mahres as they were skiing on the two expert slopes and we got a first hand look at not only how powerful they were as skiers, but a good look at their humor which is legendary. You see, at Wintergreen, you can’t ski the expert terrain unless you ski down to two ski patrol members and show them your turns. They punch your ticket which indicates that you are skilled enough to ski there. The ski patrol makes an effort to keep people off those slopes that are not skilled enough to ski there. The Mahre brothers approached them at high speed and stopped right in front of them burying them in snow. As they frantically dusted themselves off preparing to take the tickets from the guys, they showed their anger and started screaming at the top of their lungs at the World Cup champions. As they discovered who they were talking to, their demeanor suddenly became sheepish as we all got a good laugh at the prank that was played on the local constabulary by a couple of guys who have raced all over the world. night-skiing

Skiing in the south has a special charm. The Appalachian mountains are beautiful in their own right and the gentle elevation, accompanied by the legendary southern hospitality is a welcome addition to anyone’s ski portfolio. If you get the chance, ski the south. West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina may surprise you and the effort they make to stay open despite weather challenges shows their passion for the sport of skiing. You never know, you may see some Olympic champions in the lodge eating some red eye gravy and ham with some corn bread. Thanks for reading and enjoy the winter.

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Musical Trails

” Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette. Puff, puff, puff them and if you puff yourself to death. Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate that you just have to make him wait, but you just got to have another…..cigarette”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyYLrVNKE68

Nothing like a little Texas swing from Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen to start a trail run. 924186 Now, I have always been a bit of a late bloomer as they say. I got married at a later age,had a child at a later age, still have not matured in many ways, and still put stamps on envelopes and mail my bills. But I am embracing technology and now have a new partner on my winter trail runs- Pandora. You might say, ” Pat- what is so novel about running with ear buds? Everybody does it.” Well I tried the I-Pod a number of years ago and didn’t like it because when I am riding my mountain bike, I like the feedback of sound from the trails. Same with skiing. If I hit an ice patch, I want to be able to hear it so my reaction is appropriate and not be distracted by Mick yelling in my ear that he needs some satisfaction. But running the trails- that is a horse of a different color. Thanks to Janet, JR, Chris, and Daryl, I have finally found Pandora on the trail and have loaded up my shuffle opportunities with some of my favorite music. download (3)

With the Byrds, Commander Cody, The Dead, The New Riders of the Purple Sage, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Poco and a host of other music from my college years, I can run over those logs and rocks and make time to the cadence of my favorite songs. I can get lost on those trails with daydream visions of my old dorm room with Bob Rose and his aviator sunglasses getting ready to put his KLH speakers out the window for spring term- blasting the Commander for everyone outside. I can see the cracked linoleum floors and see the packed refrigerator with Genesee Cream Ale provided by Jeff Ruggles. I can even see that curmudgeon of a lawyer Pat Clair, with his long black hair back in the day, tapping his toes to the rhythm of the Byrds. I can see the layout of that room with the early post office decor- because it genuinely was ripped off from the campus post office by a number of rowdies in our dorm. I laugh as I hear these old tunes and it helps me through the dark nights of the winter on the dark and desolate trails. I have run our trail system for 35 years. I have not become involved in the Fat Bike craze or the studded mountain bike tire craze yet because when it starts to get cold, sloppy, and icy, I park the mountain bike and pull out my trail running shoes. photo Something different and no hassle with extra clothes and a mud/ice caked bike. But again, I am a late bloomer and I may change. In my defense, my behaviors may be archaic, but I have always tried the latest sports equipment looking for an advantage. I did embrace the oversize tennis racquets, shaped skis, and 29er mountain bikes. But with regards to winter trail activities,I am still in the trail running,hiking,and snowshoe mode. But my new friend Pandora has made it all the more enjoyable. For 35 years I had to entertain myself with my own inane thoughts on those dark, lonely, winter trail runs. Now I have my old college musical friends running and hiking with me.

When the first real snow arrives, I pull out the snowshoes and am in a more contemplative mood. I like the beauty of the snow covered trees in the woods. My eclectic taste in music changes on these nights as I listen to Enya, Celtic Women, Sara McLaughlin,and Libera. The haunting Celtic melodies or the choir music of Libera almost elevate me as I hike the snow covered trails with my snowshoes. It is as if I am almost in another world of some kind with that peaceful, contemplative music in my ears coupled with the visual pastoral settings of a snow covered landscape.

It is interesting how music affects your mood and manages performance in activities like trail running. I like the shuffling of my selections but when that hard uphill comes into play right before the end at the parking lot, I like the ability to kick into my last effort with some inspirational music from ………..lets say……..The New Riders…….” Panama Red.” ” Just don’t know when Red’s in town, he keeps well hidden under ground…….” Ahhh, made it up the hill.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKgB-3aANe0 Amazing how that music got me going. Hey- I am a late bloomer. You guys have had the ear buds for years. I am just now discovering and enjoying it. Keep bringing me into the 21st century my friends. Thanks for reading and enjoy the winter.

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Ski Bars- Home of the Whoppers!

From the Best of http://www.chroniclesofmccloskey.com

One of the wonderful things about a great day of skiing is sharing the fun ups and downs( no pun intended) of the day with your friends at the local ski bar.  Apres ski, as it is called, is a celebrated ritual at great ski bars across the country like the Snorting Elk at Crystal Mt., Washington or the Classic apres at the Red Lion in Vail.  East Coast skiers hang at places like the Wobbly Barn on the access road in Killington, VT. or the iconic Matterhorn in Stowe, Vermont.20140227_174308slide4  Last March I had a great day skiing at Whiteface up in the Adirondacks with my pal Mike Smith and we sat at the corner of the bar eating a late lunch at The Cottaqe which was the scene of many a McCloskey, Durfee, Smith, ski outing.  We loved talking to the bartender about Andrew Weibrecht’s silver Super G medal at the Olympics seeing that he is a Lake Placid native and his folks own The Cottage as well as the famed Mirror Lake Inn.  The fun runs of the day, the bravado, and the thrills and spills are all recounted at the ski bars across the country during ski season and the atmosphere in these post ski day hangouts is electric.  photo

One of the more interesting things that usually occurs during the apres ski sessions are the embellishments of the feats of the day in direct correlation to the amount of beer consumed.  The stories get better and better and sometimes one needs to keep the tales in check because you never know who is listening.  That goggle tanned girl that is sitting next to you might have just hucked off an 80 foot cliff into deep powder and skied away like it was no effort at all.  She might not be all that impressed with your beer goggled story of how you cruised a groomer at 60 MPH according to your I- phone app.  That speed is doubtful at best, and as the girl chuckles and walks away, she thanks you for the beer.   Perhaps one of my favorite stories occurred at the Mangy Moose in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.  I was sitting at the bar with my friend Paul Vey who had just skied Corbet’s Couloir for the first time.  Paul played basketball for the University of Vermont and used to sneak out of the dorm to go skiing at Stowe or Smuggler’s hoping not to be caught by the coach.  Paul is an avid skier and to hear him say that skiing Corbet’s that day with me was the highlight of his athletic career was impressive. It made me feel good being a part of his skiing experience down that classic run. Paul was a Division I NCAA athlete.  We both talked about the experience, but were interrupted by a loud conversation next to us which involved a guy who was telling the tale of how he skied Corbet’s Couloir that day on telemark skis.  Paul and I were amazed at the gall of the guy who was obviously working the crowd with his tales of tele glory.  The fact of the matter was that we recognized this guy as the one who crashed and burned down Corbet’s right in front of us.  We helped him clean up his yard sale all over the slope below the couloir. You could see the sheepish look on his face as he altered his story for the fans but we all had a good laugh and talked about the challenge of Corbet’s and Jackson Hole skiing in general.  03jack395.2

Sitting with your friends at a ski bar and telling the tales of the day can be extended if you buy one of the t-shirts or hats for sale.  The good times can be extended to the summer when you wear the stuff and someone notices a familiar after ski haunt.  Hopefully you wash the shirt a few times so that it is a bit worn and maybe run the hat over with your truck in the parking lot to give it some character.  Maybe some sweat stains might also help the cause.  Appearance is everything and your favorite t-shirt or hat from that famous apres ski bar is a prized piece of clothing.  Our friends from Philly, Judy and Mike Smith, always laugh at my clothing which always has some kind of a logo from a ski area or a ski bar. They think that this is the only type of clothing I may own.  They might be right,  although I don’t have Mangy Moose pants or The Cottage boxers. My favorite is an old, worn Rocky Mountain Oyster shirt from that famous little joint in Jackson. The rather well endowed mountain goat on the front advertises the delicacy of what is a gastronomical treat to some westerners.  I don’t want to go into it but Google Rocky Mountain Oysters and see how “they” are prepared.

The next time you find yourself in the apres ski joint of your choice, take time to listen to some stories and chuckle at how some guys work really hard to impress the ladies, or their friends with tales from the day.  Maybe you will find yourself recounting and embellishing a few stories yourself.  If you look down at the other end of the bar or another table, you might hear me and my friends telling some tales of our own.  Remember- the older we get- the better we were.  Especially in a ski bar.  Thanks for reading and think snow.  Elk+Taps+%26+Fire

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I was a Crash Test Dummy ( and lived to tell the tale)

From The Best of http://www.chroniclesofmccloskey.com

IMG-20130111-00083IIHS_crash_test_dummy_in_Hyundai_Tucsonalpine-slideDSC_0314_350_420Alpine slide - Wikipedia, the free encyclopediaIngrid_Hirschhofer_Grass_Skiing_World_Championships_2009_Grass_skis There has been a lot of talk about global warming lately and the ski areas are concerned about shorter ski seasons and the revenue concerns that are a result of this weather phenomena. A lot of areas have been promoting summer activities like golf, conventions, hiking, lift served mountain biking, bike parks and other ways of bringing the public to the mountains in the summer to boost bottom lines at resorts.

Back in the day, my buddy Mike Smith, who I have referenced in this blog as my ski buddy from Lake George, NY, was the mountain manager at Seven Springs Resort in Pennsylvania’s Laurel Highlands. Mike was instrumental in designing and installing one of the first Alpine Slides in the country and Anni Dupre Santry and I were his crash test dummies during the installation. The slide basically was a concrete slide which made its way down the mountain and the rider would utilize a cart with wheels and a brake lever for speed control. By leaning left or right, one could ride the slide and control the cart at a speed that was dictated by the bravado and the skill of the rider. During installation, Mike would ask Anni and I to try different sections and see how fast we could go without flipping out of the concrete track. Based on our success or failure, he would adjust the bends and reduce the amount of straightaways. Anni and I ended up with some amazing crash rash on our elbows, thighs and various other body parts due to this experimentation and Mike would laugh hysterically at our failures which resulted in some colossal crashes on the adjacent ski slope. ” You better put a bend in there Mike”, I would yell out as I tended to my wounds while riding the chairlift up the mountain for another run at it. Mike would make an adjustment and tell Anni and I to go for it again with “no brakes”. Like the dummies that we were, we would comply and either make it or fly out of the track rolling in the grass down the hill with another failed attempt. Mike would put another bend in the track until we all could ride it successfully at high speed. I was never sure whether this type of testing was in the installation manual but it worked for Mike, and Anni and I had a blast doing it weathering the bleeding, scrapes, and blunt force trauma of it all.

Another form of summer carnage was the sport of grass skiing. These tank treads which had ski bindings mounted to them were an accident waiting to happen at picnics, and other weekend afternoons on grassy ski slopes. I had some of the first ones and many a friend at a picnic nearly killed themselves trying to maneuver these grass skis by physically making baby steps in the direction of the turn. Even with ski poles, the turns were not pretty and if you hit a rock or a stump, you went flying into the pucker brush with crash rash galore. You could get your bell rung real well with grass skiing. At Ski Liberty in Pennsylvania, they even had giant slalom courses set up in the summer for grass skiing and at the top of the mountain was a large pan of soapy water to lube the grass skis for your attempt at the course. As the competitiveness of summer skiers heated up, the crashes were spectacular with many an ending in the local clinic tending to rashes and broken wrists and arms. I was fortunate enough to only secure cuts and bruises but the thrill of downhill skiing in the summer was intoxicating enough to bring us back for more and more at our local areas and parks as well as the mountain resorts. The grass skis were eventually given to some poor unsuspecting younger friend as I got older and wiser, but I sure got good use out of those ungodly machines of destruction.

Mountain bike crashes, road bike crashes in criteriums and road races and behind leaky garbage trucks have come and gone. In the winter, there have been many an edge caught with a resulting crash of spectacular form. But nothing like the raw egg beaters of working the Alpine Slide or racing on the grass skis. As I get older, some of those old egg beaters have begun to take their toll in stiffness upon waking. But I always look back and laugh at the bravado and the sheer insanity of utilizing the slide and the grass skis. No wonder I got clots and have to take a blood thinner. When you have no respect for your body and hurl yourself into the abyss, things happen and they aren’t always pretty. But you have to have some fun in your life right? Nowadays, I take it a little easier. Not sure about Anni. Thanks for reading.

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Greenlees Mountain Bikes

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NiteRider2photophotophotophotophoto There is a statistic floating around out there that claims that 90 percent of all mountain bikes sold are never taken off road. Consider what percentage are utilized on rocky, rooty, muddy, eastern trails coupled with doing it at night with lights and you have a small percentage of bicycles and riders. Back in the 90s, I had the good fortune of becoming associated with a group of individuals that took the sport of mountain biking very seriously and became almost legendary in their victories in local mountain bike races in West Virginia and Pennsylvania. Their use of these off road machines put the manufacturers to the test every time they had a training ride and some of the best riders and racers at the time belonged to a group started by Chuck Greenlee of Prospect Pa.

Chuck had a small shop and prided himself on carrying the best equipment that could be tested on the rocks of the terminal moraine. The frame to have at the time was either a Merlin titanium or a Yeti and Chuck quickly assembled a group of individuals who supported his shop and ultimately made up his race team. Jonathan Moran, Ricky Haas, Eric Sauereisen, Bob Anderson, E.J Sigety, Steve Wahlenmeyer,Frankie Ross, and Bill Alcorn were all incredibly good riders and the balance of the group were in the older category as veterans which included Chuck, Mike Reidinger, Tim Sweeney and yours truly – truly bringing up the rear. Diane Blackburn was our lone woman rider who could ride most guys into the ground. I first got to respect Diane when she gave me a real ration of grief for getting lost on a Month of Mud course. She was in our group at the time and I ziggged instead of zagged and heard it from Diane for weeks. Jonathan and the boys rode the Pro Expert Division and their rides and routes taught me a lot about riding on the rocks. Of course, I was not able to keep up with this group but they all were kind enough to spend the time to teach me the finer points of riding in this treacherous terrain. Often there were several groups riding at Moraine State Park in those days that were associated with Chuck’s team and the fast guys were able to do their thing with the slower guys bringing up the rear and learning all along the way. I had many over the bars experiences much to the amusement of the “A” team but being part of that team of folks was not only an education, but immersing into a culture of ride or be left behind. ” What doesn’t kill you makes you strong” was certainly on display on those rides and the fruits of the work displayed itself in the podium finishes for the Expert Group. Our Vet group held our own and oftentimes won our divisions in races like the 24 Hours of Canaan( see May 15th, 2013 post). The NORBA Nationals, 24 Hour races, Hidden Valley Fat Tire Fallouts and Stampedes, Month of Mud races, WVMBA Series races, all had podium representation by the Greenlee crew in all age divisions. Even our older guys like Tim, Chuck and Mike were always competitive overall as well as winning in the Vet and Master division. Like a blind squirrel who finds an acorn once in a while, I even had some good finishes at the time that showed me that with a little hard work and keeping momentum on rocks and roots, even a schlubb like me can be successful. I was happy to be a Greenlee Mountain Bike Team member.

Besides the victories, the better part of being associated with Greenlee’s Mountain Bikes was the culture created by Chuck and also the team itself. E.J and his wife Sharon would always welcome us back to their home for cookouts after rides and races. Steve’s girlfriend Julie ( now his wife) would always get her parent’s motor home to be the base of support at the races and her immediate family was always welcoming with a great place to rest and have something to eat. The mechanics from the local shops would all set up outside the RV and if there were any issues at the races, it was a communal repair pit for anyone who needed it.

I loved traveling to the events in West Virginia with Chuck and perhaps some of the more harrowing rides in the country were with Chuck trying to catch Sam Dyke and the “Parrot Man” with his super suspended van on the back roads of the Monongahela National Forest. We made it to Davis, Slaty Fork, and other locations in record time. Chuck was always a pedal to the metal guy not only in his riding but in his driving. But the best part of hanging with Chuck was that if we needed anything by way of equipment, parts, etc, Chuck was always there at all times to provide and would work on broken bikes well into the night. When you are passionate about something, it becomes part of your life. You are not just someone who rides a bicycle, you are a mountain biker. It becomes part of your persona. It seems like a long time ago, but a lot of the skills and more importantly friendships have lasted to this day and my passion for riding a mountain bike was first fueled by a fun loving crew from the wilds of Butler County.

These days, my old Merlin hangs from a hook in my garage. If that bike could talk, it would certainly tell some great stories. There are many groups and teams like the old Greenlee’s Team and they all have several things in common- passion for a sport, camaraderie ,laughs, accountability, and great memories that last a lifetime. Unfortunately, Chuck is no longer with us.  He was taken a couple of years ago with heart failure and he is sorely missed.   Cherish your friends.  Thanks for reading.  

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Know the Rules!

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AP570722027_t62014d7c856-bf4a-4b95-ada5-4359dd6b415cGOClogo-shannopin-country-club Its funny, people come up to me and ask if I play golf? I respond,” only if I have to.” I am a little too nervous and jerky for golf and I always remark that if they could pitch the golf ball to me, I might do better. In any event, outside of the occasional 9 holes for fun with Janet(my wife), I really don’t play much golf. However, I do have a history of sorts with the sport. I rented clubs at Ballybunion, the famous course on the west coast of Ireland, and promptly lost 6 balls on the first 6 holes because the rough was so high. I ended up returning the clubs because the shop was closed and walked the rest of the course just to see it. Very scenic but not a place for me to play golf.

When I was a kid, my dad played golf at Shannopin Country Club in Pittsburgh and being a child of the depression, he was father enough to say that,” I play golf here- you can work here.” Which is what I did, parking cars, working in the kitchen, and most of all caddying. Being a caddy was an enlightening endeavor in that you met the most interesting people and see how they react under competitive circumstances. Take the good guys- Gene Sutherland, Don McClelland, Bill McClelland, and whatever victim they could find as their fourth. My friend Tom Herder and I would park in the lot at about 3:00 AM so we could be the first on the list to assure two rounds of doubles on any given Saturday. If we were given these guys, we were assured of balls right down the middle and hilarious comments in the midst of a very competitive and financially lucrative competition. These guys would try to beat each other each weekend, get a shot and a beer at the turn, press the bets, and then continue the competition at the card table playing gin late into the night. If I was on the winning side, I got a nice tip. If not, they were still generous but not happy.

The other caddying experiences were not as fun with the hackers spewing drives and errant iron shots into the woods. If I found one close to the out of bounds marker, I would kick it back in bounds to keep the round going and also assure a nice tip because of the pleasant experience of finding a surely out of bounds ball miraculously in bounds. Smiles abounding and a nice financial reward at the end of the day. The ladies days were another story. There were the good ones like Carol Semple who was a national amateur champion but most of the ladies who participated were, shall we say, challenged. I was always polite but when they asked me what to hit on their 19th shot on the hole, did it really matter? Oh well.

All of the time spent at Shannopin yielded me a nice benefit one year. John Conley, who was the golf professional, asked me if I wanted to work in his place as a marshal on one of the holes at the US Open at Oakmont in 1973. That was the year Johnny Miller set the course record with 63 on the final round. I marveled at his focus as he seemed to float through my hole just staring into the distance and visually acknowledging no one. He was in the “zone” and the 63 was remarkable. As a marshal, I was representing the local chapter of the PGA and had a PGA hat on my head along with an official Oakmont US Open 1973 shirt and slacks. I sure looked official even though I was 18 and didn’t look anything like a golf professional. The moment of truth came about when Lionel Hebert, a veteran tour professional, hit his ball into the sand trap right in front of me. As he approached, my blood pressure started to escalate as he asked me if he could get some relief seeing that there was water in the trap. I looked for the USGA guy who was not in sight and fortunately I remembered the Rule Number 25 in the USGA Rules that addressed casual water. I remember from my caddy days that if you could bring up water by pushing your foot near the ball, it was considered “casual water” and the golfer would be granted a club length relief. I stated this and Lionel Hebert stepped near the ball, brought up water, and looked at me. Fortunately the blue jacket and the gray pants of the USGA Official came into sight as I gave my opinion, he nodded that this was the right call and granted Hebert a club length relief. Lionel placed the ball in a dry spot, took out an iron and sent the ball flying and thanked me for the ruling. I was relieved and the USGA guy nodded his approval and moved on. I couldn’t get off that course fast enough but what an experience for an 18 year old caddy and car parker from Shannopin. Whew!!!

Good thing my dad made me work as much as he did. It built character and understanding of life that I took with me to the box factory where I worked summers in my college years. It honed a work ethic that I have tried to pass on to my son Jack who is carrying the McCloskey torch with employment. It all seems so long ago but Shannopin and the US Open at Oakmont are etched in my brain forever. Thanks for reading.  Back to the trail and woodsy stuff next week. Fore!!!!!