Tag Archives: American Culture

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The Mainstreaming of Snowboarding

photo The Burton U.S. Open Qualifier for the best snowboarders in the country is at my home area of Seven Springs this weekend. Coupled by the excitement of the half-pipe,boardercross, and the slopestyle events in the upcoming Olympics in Sochi, Snowboarding is definitely on the international radar screen of winter sports in this country and around the world. I was riding up the chair the other day with a guy in his 20s who said that he had been riding a snowboard for 18 years. I remarked to him how mainstream snowboarding had become. I have been a life long skier but have seen the development of snowsports in this country include snowboards, twin tipped skis, half pipes, snowboard parks, and even the ski schools have been renamed Snowsports Schools. Hey- we all are playing in the same sandbox now and no matter how you choose to slide down a hill, the joy of winter sports can be enjoyed in many different ways and expressions.

It has been a tough slide uphill for the boarders up until now. A lot of skiers had questions and animosities towards these new guys who had the baggy clothes, boards and a bit of an attitude in the early days because they were trying to break into the old boys club on the slopes. I was not the only one to witness boarders getting into it with old guys as they entered the lifts and exited the lifts. Lots of bad feelings because of the mis-understandings between boarders and skiers. There are a few areas who still ban snowboards from the slopes but that is being challenged on a daily basis. The pure unvarnished truth is that snowboarding saved the ski industry. Skier visits have remained flat in recent years and if the winters were soft in a particular area of the country, clothing and equipment sales were down. Snowboarding revitalized the industry with sales of new boards and the funky clothing that is indiginous to the young crowd who tend to participate. Lots of those younger generation boarders are now sporting the gray hairs but still ride enthusiastically along with the next generation. I have not seen as many of the confrontations as in the old days, but some of that outlaw mentality does still exist.

I am obviously fine with the boarders and all the clothing, equipment, swagger, etc, that showcases the younger generation. What I would like to point out is that we all have a responsibility to each other when we go sliding down a mountain as fellow showsports enthusiasts. I grew up with the Skier’s Responsibility Code which outlined among many things, that the downhill skier has the right of way and that a skier must be under control at all times. We have all seen out of control skiers over the years and the hope has always been that the ski patrol or rangers deal with that dangerous situation. I also remember my wife being frightened when a straightlining snowboarder came up behind her and screamed “Get out of the way” even though she was clearly the downhill skier. I still see boarders and skiers come into a lift line “hot” and lose their edge or edges and take out a person standing in line at the knees. My friend in Colorado is still recovering from an out of control boarder who hit him in the lift line and blew out his ACL. All he was doing was standing in line and “BAM” cleaned out at the knees. Hey- it happens with boarders and skiers and it is time that the areas and the skiers and boarders who are experienced, take up the cause of educating their fellow enthusiasts and enlightening them on the Responsibility Code. It really should be called the Snowsports Responsibility Code. If we all are playing in the same sandbox then we all must abide by the same rules. If an experienced boarder sees bad form on the slopes by a fellow boarder, take the time to get him or her aside and tell them in a nice way that they have to be responsible out there. Same with skiers. I have had many conversations with skiers and boarders alike who have cleaned out one of my visually impaired skiers and just ridden or skied away. I often say, I could put a neon billboard on our blind skiers and some of these yahoos still would not see them, much less care about hitting them. Not good form at all. So take the time to make sure that it is safe out there and be responsible. Skiers are learning how boarders make turns and can steer out of their paths if needed. Boarders also must be cogniscent of where the skier is below them and respect their space and not mark a path and ride it come hell or highwater. And we all must be in control when we get close to a lift line. We don’t want to come in too “hot” and take out an unsuspecting skier or boarder in line or worse yet a little child.

So, the point of all of this is, we all are together now. Boarders, skiers, twin tippers, blade skiers, whatever gets you down the mountain. It’s all cool and we all must have fun but we all must be responsible. We have to care about the guy or gal downhill and in the line. And no cause to get ugly in the lift line either. We all are adults and can have a conversation without confrontation. Enjoy the boarding and skiing events on the Olympics in the coming weeks. I can’t wait. Thanks for reading and think snow. Thanks to the two guys in the parking lot who graciously posed for the post picture. They were cool and wanted to know more about the Chronicles. I hope they are followers now. Nice Guys!! One last thing, if you can’t get my pictures on your pad, I-phone, etc, just click on the title and the whole article and pictures show up. USA, USA, USA, ………

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Be a little part of History

2013-02-05-the-bowlIMG_0084photophotoTannenbaum-T-barGoogle Image Result for http--theinvisibleagent.files.wordpress.com-2009-08-ski09toni_matt_at_tuckerman_ravine-193.jpgw=460&h=610Ellicottville-20130208-00088 Many years ago, I had the pleasure of hearing Toni Matt tell the story about his famous Inferno ski race down Tuckerman Ravine in 1939. Toni was born in St. Anton, Austria the hallowed ground of ski racing and ski instruction and when he came to America, he entered this famous race up in New Hampshire against all of the hotshot Dartmouth ski racers and won because he straightlined the Headwall of Tuckerman Ravine. This was a feat that had never been done let alone in a race and the National Ski Hall of Fame recorded the account on the evening that I heard Toni tell the tale. Interestingly, 1939 was a pivotal year in American skiing. Some of the first rope tows went up that year in Seven Springs, Pa. and Fish Hill up in Western New York state. All of this preceded by the first rope tow in Vermont in 1934 near Woodstock.   People were starting to get enthused about sliding on a pair of skis and the late 30s prior to the big war, were the seed years of skiing in this country. Post World War II, the 10th Mountain Division veterans founded some of the larger ski areas out west including Vail. There are several accounts written about the 10th and their exploits against the Nazis in Italy and how their adept skiing skills not only helped them in the battles in Europe but also fueled their passion to create modern day ski areas.

I have always liked history particularly the founding years of our country. But it is also interesting to look at the history of my favorite sport in America. If you ask anyone who plays golf, they can tell you about the famous courses and their history in this country. The Opens, the Masters, how they don’t take out the wooden floor in the men’s grill at Oakmont Country Club because the spike marks belonged to such luminaries as Ben Hogan, Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus. If you have a passion for your sport, you know the history and appreciate the efforts of those who have gone before you. The old saying that “you don’t know where you are going if you don’t know where you have been”, applies to American History as well as the history of sport. I love looking at the old pictures of the wooden skis( I owned several pairs and skied on them as told in my last post.) I love seeing how the early days of stretch pants, leather boots, cable bindings shaped the sport and respect the passion of those who took the time and effort to market skiing.

I had the pleasure of skiing Holimont this past week up in Western New York. The private club was founded in 1962 and has been a haven to ski enthusiasts ever since. The members are avid skiers and racers, and take pride in their club. You can feel the passion of the members in the way that they meet each week with their crock pots, lunches in the lodge, promoting events that foster their love for the sport of skiing. They let non members like me ski during the week and it is quite evident that this club is well run with excellent grooming, lifts and dedicated instructors and patrollers who are eager to converse about skiing at Holimont.

History has a great way of telling the story about those who had the vision to build a hunting lodge like Adolph Dupre did at Seven Springs here in Pa. How he built the rope tow for his customers out of an old truck engine, some truck wheels that served as the rotating wheels on the tow, and a heavy duty rope that he fashioned himself. These stories are inclusive of all of those startups in 1934- 1939 and if you look at the pictures above, you will see the history unfolded. Those Holiday Valley Queens were somebody’s girlfriend, wife or mother who told the story about the fun times that they had back in the early sixties with the snow carnivals. Don’t you just love that fur hat? Not quite sure what those guys were doing with the parachutes on their backs, but it looked like fun with their wooden skis and leather boots. Well, we have stories like that as well and I am sure that as the years go on, my wife and son and his family someday will see the old pictures of our skiing exploits. They will talk about our little bit of history on the slopes. If you have the passion for a sport, take pictures, talk it up to someone who would like to try, and encourage them to be a little part of history for someone down the road looking at how it was done. I think my ski outfits and equipment are pretty state of the art. But no doubt someone looking at them in the future will ask,” Wow- what does grampa have on his feet and what on earth is he wearing?” Hey, that old relic grampa will be a little part of ski history. Think snow and thanks for reading.

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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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“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!!!

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Jump on the Sustainability Train

photo Sustainability is a big buzz word today. In common vernacular we hear words like “green”, “environmentally conscious”, “carbon footprint” and “global warming.” We all have a responsibility to take care of our world and pass on a better world for our children, grandchildren, and generations to come. My company is taking sustainability very seriously by corporate and warehouse recycling programs, utilizing intermodal transportation where tractor trailers are taken off the road and loaded on to flatbed rail cars, reducing carbon emissions,and saving on tire wear, and engine repair. It is a less expensive form of transportation as well. Companies, people, countries are all now conscious of our use of natural resources and the paths we trod on our planet.

Please take a look at the video on the following link: http://wornwear.patagonia.com This short film shows how folks utilize good clothing, repair it, and keep it often to be passed on to the next generation. Patagonia is a very progressive company founded by the well known climber Yvon Chouinard. Chouinard started the company as a hardgoods concern manufacturing pitons, ice axes, and other climbing equipment. When he ventured into the soft goods arena, he was bound and determined to make it the best quality and be socially responsible as well. If you look at my picture above, you will see the original Patagonia pile pullover that I am wearing on the top of Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. This picture is from the late 70s and I still wear this pullover today. I still have my Vasque HikerIIs(hiking boots) from 40 years ago. My wool sport coats are from my college days and my wife finally threw out a pair of duct taped Docksiders from high school. I was bummed. Without really trying, I ventured into sustainability because wearing this stuff prevented the use of natural resources to make new clothing and boots which I really don’t need. Now my gas guzzling Jeep is setting back my credits and I do replace skis, bikes, parts,and ski boots, when necessary. But along with my contentment with clothing, I do try to do my little part to save the planet when I can.

Sustainability is really an active way of portraying the spirit of Thanksgiving. We really have a lot to be thankful for and among our blessings is our planet and our natural resources. We each can take a part in the sustainability movement by looking at what we really need and what we really don’t need. We can recycle responsibly and in our own little way, we can contribute. We may not be able to make a large impact like Yvon Chouinard and Patagonia, but maybe by looking at our lifestyles and what we can do like what is shown in the film, we can help save our world, little by little. I love Thanksgiving. I am thankful for my wife, my son, my health and the ability that God gave me to enjoy life. I love being outdoors and enjoying our world. Personally, I am glad that there is awareness that we must protect the planet. In many ways, it brings us all together even though we may have differences. Go hug a tree will ya? Thanks for reading and watch that flick!!!

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Enjoy the Olympics

Lake Placid 1980 Winter Olympics Olympic Video News Medals1625378_10_147x1101081918_10_147x110Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics - Olympic Tickets, Schedules, Games, Newsus%20ski%20team.finals2013 In February, the world will take another breather from the political and social pressure and focus on an event that happens every four years- The Winter Olympics. The Russians are the host of the 2014 Games in Sochi which will again be a spectaclar event shown to all of us on the NBC network. There have been the usual misgivings about whether Russia is ready to host and whether all the construction and supposed environmental issues have been put to rest. But to be sure, Vladmir Putin will make sure that it is all done well. He is not only a strong willed guy but he is also an avid skier. The Winter Olympics will not only be a showcase to the world for Russian commerce and tourism, but it will be a financial boom to an area that is starting to take it’s place on the main stage of winter destinations. One thing for sure, it is an event not to be missed. NBC will have expanded coverage of many events that are not familiar to many viewers, but if you take the time to appreciate the hard work and dedication of the athletes, and that this is the pinacle oftentimes of their careers, you can really enjoy the stories and events that make up the Winter Olympiad.

I love watching the Olympics. Not only because I am a winter sports nut but also I can appreciate the dedication that goes into putting on an event like this and the efforts of the athletes who participate. Unfortunately, this is lost on some local sportswriters who show their ignorance by writing articles that demean the Olympics. When your frame of reference is only football, basketball and baseball, you really should not be reporting on an event with which you have no familiarity. If you visit major metro areas, there are writers who are experts contributing to an enthusiastic reporting of the games. Also,in the cities that have winter sports as part of their infrastructure of tourism, you have this same feeling of support for the events. I have had the experience of writing to the editors of my local rag because their reports on the games have been jaded and lacking the proper information. One guy had the gaul to call the sporting events “games” and that they really are not sporting events. I responded that perhaps football games, baseball games and basketball games are played by gamers and not athletes? I informed him that if he ever took the time to attend a winter sports event, he would see athletic prowess in every sense of the word. A downhill skier rocketing down an icy slope at 70-90 MPH with legs like a fullback is hardly a gamer. A skater performing a triple axel or a hockey player digging it out in the corner against a tough Eastern European team is an athlete. Cross country skiing takes every bit of strength and aerobic capacity to compete at the international level with the athletes absolutely spent at the finish line. I threw a bone at the guy and said that I would maybe consider curling a game, but nothing else. This is the same guy who said that Tiger Woods was not an athlete because he wore pleated pants. I guess my point is to the local sportswriters to get informed and jump on the Olympic bandwagon instead of pooh pooing something that most of the world embraces. Ignorance is revealing in local sports writing and it always happens around the Winter Olympics.

I had the good fortune of attending the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid. My cousin worked for Coke at the time and gave me $900.00 worth of tickets. My friends, the Durfees, and I attended most of the events but the hottest ticket was hockey. We could not trade or buy any tickets and ended up watching the Miracle on Ice in a bar across the street from the hockey venue. We stood at the top of the ski jumps and my heart was in my mouth as I imagined sliding down that steep pitch and jumping into the abyss only to land to the applause of the thousands of spectators attending those events. Ice dancing, figure skating, cross country skiing were all on our agenda as we made our way through the Olympic Village every day. It was real cold at those Olympics which was typical for the Adirondacks in February. When we arrived at the parking area and were waiting in monstrous lines to catch a school bus to the events, the cold really sunk in and as I admired the Olympic Flame in the distance, the guy next to me who had a distinct Brooklyn accent said,” I’d like to sit my ass in that flame right about now.” We all laughed heartly at that one and the comraderie made the cold bearable. Trading pins was the rage and it became a mission to try to get as many supplier, and team pins as possible. We had the good fortune to see Eric Heiden win all of his speed skating medals and it was amusing to see the Russians hunkering in fear as they saw him take the oval in his gold Descente speed suit. I tried the skates out at the Oval one other year and believe me, it is hard to stand up on those things let alone fly around the rink like Heiden did. He was an impressive athlete who went on to cycling fame with the 7-11 Team and eventually made it through med school and now practices medicine out in California. I met him at a road race one time when we all were staying at the same hotel as the 7-11 team. Even though he had lost some upper body mass, his legs still would be the envy of the Incredible Hulk. You could not meet a nicer guy and for some local sports hack to call what he did a game, is appalling.

If you ever get the chance to attend the spectacle that is the Olympics, don’t pass it up. The energy in the Oympic Village, the opening and closing ceremonies, the pins, the athletes walking around and being accessible for conversation, is something you will never forget. This winter, in February, take the time to watch the events. It is amazing to see athletes participating in short track speed skating, skiing, ice dancing, hockey, and the reported stories of how they sacrificed to get to the Olympics and realize their dreams. Some of them realized and some of them dashed with the agony of defeat. It is a spectacle to embrace. Don’t get caught up in a local rag who publishes writings of some uninformed and jaded reporter. Look for publications and internet stories that are informative and promote the goodwill that is the Olympic Games and foster the Olympic Spirit. Hey, the world needs a break every once in a while to compete against each other in sport and not on the economic or military platform. Enjoy the Olympics and thanks for reading.

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The New England Road Trip

IMG-20121211-00079entering_white_mountain_national_forest2013-02-05-the-bowlnew-england-church I drive a lot of miles in a year. Between work trips and all my extracurricular activity for skiing, cycling and family trips, I put a lot of miles on a vehicle. For work, my general rule is that if it is 6 hours or under, I drive. I really don’t want to fly unless the distance dictates it. Airports are a hassle but a necessary evil in our day and times. But on the other side of the coin, I like to take road trips. You can pack more than you might otherwise, and you can dictate your own schedule. You can listen to your music in the vehicle, CDs, books on tape and most of all you have the time to relax,put the sun roof down, and take some personal time. I like road trips and the ones with my family are gold in that we have hours to talk and be with each other uninterrupted. But, I also like my solo trips because it is a chance to take some time, sit behind the wheel, listen, and think.

Back in the days in college when I went to New Hampshire for the first time to ski with a friend of my dad’s, I fell in love with the White Mountains. I really enjoyed Mt. Cranmore and the Mt. Washington Valley and the most scenic highway in the northeast- the Kancamangus Highway. After college, I worked at Sugarloaf, Maine for the winter and really enjoyed my experiences there. (See my earlier blog post-Maine Memories). All in all, that area of the country had a special appeal to me and it drew me back, year after year, with road trips in all the different seasons. I had taken the path of least resistance after my winter in Maine and worked for my father in our small manufacturer’s rep business. As I made my way through my early days in the sales wars, I often made lunch stops between visits to the steel mills and machine shops, and read my ski magazines and other periodicals about life in New England. My commitment to my family business was taking root for better of for worse, and the need for a road trip was a welcome respite from the industrial day to day in the sales world. I racked my brain trying to think how I could make a living at the time somewhere in the Northeast living in that great area of the country, but as adventurous as I was with my avocations, I was not that adventurous with a career change or taking a chance. I figured the best thing I could do was to stick with what I was doing and save up to take the frequent road trips to the Northeast.

The best road trips up there were to visit my buddy Mike Smith who owns a marina on Lake George. The both of us would frequently make the trek to Killington to ski with our good friends, the Durfees, who lived in Bethel, Vermont at the time. I think I could take that trip from Pittsburgh in my sleep. 79 North, to 90 East, cut the corner in Amsterdam, New York, get spit out at Ballston Spa, hop on the Adirondack Northway(I-87 North) to Rt 189, to Rt 4 to Rt7, past Killington and turn at Bills Country Store for the home stretch into Bethel. Lots of good times up there including our cross country ski excursions on Sundays in the stone quarry where we tried killing ourselves xc skiing up and down the piles of gravel covered with snow. Lots of busted equipment and lots of laughs between ski outings at the Beast of the East- Killington,Vermont. I learned about the value of Grade A maple syrup by observing the sugaring process at the Durfee’s neighbor’s house. I learned about wood stoves and how important it was for Bethel residents to make sure they got their wood in the basement for the winter to power their furnaces. Lots of sub zero ski days, road cycling outings on the back roads of Vermont and treks to the White Mountains to ski our beloved Tuckerman Ravine.

I couldn’t wait for those trips and had some hairy experiences in the winter making my way through Buffalo. Freezing rains with tractor trailers sliding sideways on the Interstates, to 3 foot snow events slowing my usual 10 hour trip times. However, it was adventurous and I always drove four wheel drive vehicles so I felt that I had some advantage even though they slide as much as any vehicle. If you check out my Fourth of July post, you will see that one year, my neighbors thought I was moving when I took a New England road trip with my bike, skis, golf clubs, tennis racquets, and water ski. That was maybe one of the best road trips of all time.

I still take road trips often and when I travel regionally for work, I always take my toys with me, either skis or a mountain bike and make the most of a trip. Why spend your evenings sitting in some restaurant by yourself or a bar pickling yourself when you can see a great state park, a lake, a great mountain, or take advantage of some other nice outdoor adventure right nearby? I have not taken a New England road trip for a while because the Durfees are now out in Tahoe and we visit them there. But,I do make a point to see my friend Mark Hutchinson in East Randolph, Vermont and ski the Beast whenever I am in the New England area. Also, Mike Smith is still at Lake George and we get together to ski the Adirondacks and enjoy the lake. It’s just like anything else, you have to make the effort to go see other places and the road trip is a great way to do it. It may take longer than flying and getting a rental car, but if at all possible, the road trip is relaxing, and living out of your vehicle is comforting and practical. Hit the road Jack!!! Thanks for reading.