Tag Archives: Humor

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Snow Bound

IMG_0070 I was up in New England this week and happened upon a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier called “Snowbound- a Winter Idyl”. Sorry, it is the English Major in me coming out. This long winded narrative was surely in the spirit of all of the New England poets who described their time in the meat locker of New England winter weather.

” Shut in from all the world without,
We sat at clean winged hearth about
Content to let the North winds roar,
In baffled rage at pane and door.”

Doesn’t this just give you that fuzzy feeling for cold winter weather? The rodent here in Pa. says at least 6 more weeks and I am starting to see some cracks in the personalities of even those who like the winter. But take heart……….I have been encouraging all of you who might not like winter to try skiing, skating, sledding, snowshoeing, or anything else that gets you out of the house to enjoy what winter has to offer. At this time of year, I start to sound a little evangelistic in my zeal for winter and know that many folks cannot wait for a break in the weather even though spring skiing time is coming and that folks, is a blast not to be missed. But what simple pleasures can bring the spirit back to those of us who brave the cold and are desperately seeking warmth on those Alberta clipper days? A warm fire- that’s what.

I have always been a fan of the fireplace. A while back, I wrote a post called ” The Mountain TV” where I showed you my outdoor fireplace and all the fun associated with building a good, hot, wood fire. My first experience with fire in the winter came when I was a kid skating on North Park Lake here in Pa. before the rink was built. My folks always took us sledding and skating on the lake and one of the highlights for me was to warm myself by the fire that the county workers built and have some of their delicious hot chocolate. As they strategically moved the embers, I marveled at the red hot sparks that rose in the cold air and got my first smell of that fire that I would love to smell all of my life. Fast forward a few years and I find myself in front of a roaring fireplace at the old ski lodge at Seven Springs after a day of brutal cold weather skiing. I loved the big old green sofa in front of the fire where all of us kids used to plop ourselves down and carefully place our boots, gloves, and coats up against the fire to dry. It was amazing to see the steam coming off our boots and gloves and the occasional incineration of a ski jacket that just got too close. But the real experience of that ski lodge fireplace had nothing to do with warmth.

Sitting there one time, I was starting to fall asleep as one usually does when you come in from the cold to a warm inviting fire. All of a sudden I heard this thumping and whining in the back of the ski desk and in a few minutes I saw the General Manager, Jim McClure, come out with some beaten and bruised teenagers with a final word to them -” I ever catch you stealing signs or defacing property again, I will beat you within an inch of your life.” He let them go and then looked over to the apple cheeked fat kid on the couch( me) and said, ” Pat- let that be a lesson to anyone you know. You mess with anything up here, you will be dragged into the back room and given…..” Mountain Justice.” I always had a lot of respect for Jim McClure and still do to this day. Other lessons learned were to see my older ski heroes ( guys on the ski school) make their moves on unsuspecting co-eds in front of the fire. Man, those guys had more moves than a Swiss watch and with a little glug or other alcoholic fuel, some of those ladies with the big hair, stretch ski pants, and spiked heels were fair game. I never really got the spiked heels in the ski lodge but they did have the stretch pants. No matter to the old guard ski school guys. They were on the hunt. Rob Leonard used to say that the pillars out at the front gate to the resort should have fire shooting up out of them. In many ways, there was some devilish stuff going on and I witnessed it from the safety of the green couch and my fireplace in the lodge. I giggled a lot as a fat little skier.

Western trips soon came into play and I warmed myself by some collossal fires in the ski lodges. There is something relaxing and soothing to sit by a fire after skiing or doing anything athletic in the cold of the winter, but those ski lodges made it all the more inviting. A hot drink, some warming time with your boots off, made the cold not so brutal and that smell…….I love it to this day. You can go into many of the houses in the mountains and smell that burnt hardwood smell even when the fireplaces are not lit. I like to smell that in the summer and fall because it reminds me that winter is always coming and it is a little reminder when you get that itch to ski.

My backpacking days always included a fire no matter what the time of the year. I used to go a lot in the fall and as I told in my earlier post, I would take my cheater wax blocks and my Bernz-0-Matic torch in my backpack. You could burn anything with one of those torches and the cheater bricks. Even the state provided green wood was no match for that equipment. The state lean to’s have that aroma to them and it is always nice to light a fire after a day of hiking in the woods. Which brings me back to my own fireplace. We sit out there at night at look at the stars and solve the world’s problems with a beer or a glass of wine with the neighbors and friends. If you look at the picture again, you will see that it is very rustic and is a daily reminder of my life and times in the mountains. I call it a little bit of the Laurel Highlands right in my own back yard. It is buried now under some serious snow, but I have been known to light it up out there and clean off the Adirondack chairs even in the midst of the winter.

So, again, get out and enjoy the winter. And when you get cold, don’t give up. Just take a breather to get warm by a fireplace. Get used to that smell and enjoy what a good fire has to offer. Thanks for reading.

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“The Sherpa”

photophotophotophotoGoogle Image Result for http--ngm.nationalgeographic.com-everest-img-gallery-31-sherpas-750x500 One of the things that you may have gathered from reading my blog posts is that I live in guilt ridden hell. Growing up Catholic among other things, I have always tried to keep the peace around my house and also keeping the peace on an everyday basis. I am not a confrontational person and usually I would rather inconvenience myself to get the job done, and make sure everyone is happy. That is why I call myself – “The Sherpa.”

If you look at the picture of the gentleman above with the huge pack and the smile on his face, you will see an actual Sherpa. This tribe of individuals is indiginous to the mountainous regions of the Tibetan Himalaya and they are hard working folks who haul all the gear, tents, luggage for alpine climbing expeditions in the Himalaya. I am sure you have seen and read about these individuals and their feats of strength always amazed me as they made it to the summits with those tremendous loads that they carry. I have always admired the Sherpas and have read a lot about them. In my Walter Mitty way, I am a Sherpa. Take skiing for instance. When I was first married, my wife Janet skied but I wanted to make sure that she always came with me so I took it upon myself to carry her boots and mine in a backback. I hauled her skis on my shoulders along with mine and often walked to the lodge loaded down with equipment. Not that she would not do it, but I wanted to minimize inconvenience. When Jack came along, I bought a bigger pack and loaded three pairs of boots in the pack and hauled three sets of skis on my shoulders and asked them timidly to take the poles. I took it upon myself to help them with their ski boots in the lodge or if we had the opportunity to park near the trail head, I would help them put the boots on kneeling on the frozen ground to minimize any inconvenience or possible complaints due to the definite “pain in the ass factor”of skiing. The sport can be tedious at times schlepping all of the gear in the cold, getting everyone ready with the usual litany of making sure that we had all of the equipment. I was the equipment manager as well as the Sherpa and it worked out well even though I was sweating like a wild man before I took my first turn- even in arctic conditions.

Sometimes, my nieces and nephews would come along and the process became a little more involved with more Himalayan quality schlepps to the slopes. But the smiles were worth it and if there was any inconvenience experienced, I took care of it. Like when my son wanted me to take his socks off because he didn’t like them in the ski boots. I stopped where I was, got down on my hands and knees and took the socks off and he skied the rest of his day with bare feet in the boots. Taking the boots off at the end of the day, they were steaming like a cooling tower at a power plant. Amazing about kids but whatever it took for comfort, that was my motto.

Perhaps the ultimate Sherpa experience besides my family ski outings was the time that I had 13 visually impaired skiers to look after at the National Blind Skiing Championships( read about it in my post-February 17th,2013) I took two of our guys with me but because of weather and a lack of volunteers, I was put in charge of 13 competitors. Congo lines to dinner and the slopes were the norm and my Sherpa skills were sharpened by hauling all of their equipment to the slopes and making sure that I had it all in the van at the end of the day. All of this in below zero temps in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Sherpa family experiences did not take a hiatus in the summer. Hauling beach chairs, umbrellas, pack and plays, coolers, and all sorts of beach toys became a ritual in the early days of the McCloskeys at the beach. Things are a little better now that Jack is grown but the guilt ridden hell still pervades as I haul all of it into the garage after a trip just like in the old days.

One thing you learn being an aspiring Sherpa is that you get used to frozen fingers, bloody knuckles, balancing unwieldy loads, and doing it all with a positive, ” ain’t this great to be out here” attitude. My family likes to do the things that I do to an extent. But they are not as maniacal about the outdoor pursuits as I am. So I have always taken that into consideration as I try to make these outings as pleasant as possible. I am sure many of you have had similar experiences with getting the kids to the mountains or the beach. But I will tell you one thing, every loaded up day on my back was well worth the smiles of my family. Being a Sherpa has been well worth the while. Someday, it will probably be round two with grandchildren. I am hoping the back holds out. Otherwise, I may have to go to the Tengboche Monastary for some guidance by the Tibetan monks to encourage me to keep hauling and keep smiling. Thanks for reading.

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Its a Young Person’s World isn’t it? Sometimes!

IMG00251-20100811-2242earth-full-view_6125_990x742 So, I am out running the trails tonight and I see an old dog ahead of me plodding his way behind his master who is running ahead of me. All of a sudden, the old dog cuts up into the woods and cuts a corner and the next thing you know, he is ahead of his master. I made a remark to the owner how smart the old dog is and he said that he did that the very first day that they ran. Age and treachery can sometimes beat youth and skill. The old dog validated something for the 59 year old kid. You can take a short cut or cut the corner and there is no law against it.

Toby Keith says,” I ain’t as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.” I love that line because sometimes you can shock some young people. Maybe you make that mountain bike climb in pretty good time and even perhaps still put some of your younger riding friends in the hurt locker. Not all the time and youth is served in athletics. But every once in a while, you feel good, you had a good night’s sleep, you ate well, you had your coffee strategically in the morning, and brother, you climbed that hill better than the average Joe. Maybe you are skiing and the conditions are perfect, the sun is shining, and you rip off a couple of high speed arcs and raise a few eyebrows. Some young guns come up to you in the lift lines and maybe say,” You old dudes can still rip em.” Not all the time, not in all conditions, but just once, you might be as good as you ever were.

I used to love my father in law’s line to his two sons when I was first married to their sister. My father in law was a semi-pro baseball player and played in the Army. He was a pretty good high school athlete and challenged the two lumps to a race between the telephone poles. He used to say,” Let’s go pole to pole.” They laughed and abused him, but you know what, they never took him up on it. The point is barring something catastrophic, if you keep yourself in reasonable shape, eat well, sleep well and take your exercise seriously, there is no reason that age should get in the way. You don’t quit playing because you get old, you get old because you quit playing. I saw my pal Lon Sonick out in the woods the other day with a big smile on his face riding his mountain bike with studded tires on the snow covered trails. Lon is ten years older than me and he looks like he is still in his 40’s. A bunch of guys out at Mt. Rose in Tahoe have been riding motocross and skiing since they were 16 years old. They are all in their 60s now and ski like banshees down the chutes of Mt. Rose. They just keep on doing it.

Mindset is everything. I look around my office and see all younger people. They call us the “legacy” people and I sit with the IT group and it sounds like a foreign language to me. The key is to stay current and don’t let technology pass you by. I killed my I-Phone the other day and had to get a replacement. I frantically was calling our IT guy Bill East to help me get it set up but with Bill’s instructions and a little patience, I was able to transfer all the information and redo my apps that I use. My friend JR gave me a portable cell phone charger the other day as a Christmas gift and I was amazed at how convenient that is. I never liked Super Mario or Pac Man and my son’s X-Box Live mystifies me especially the time he spends on it. But he probably thinks the time I spend skiing in the rain or riding a mountain bike is equally ludicrous. It is a young person’s world alright but if you keep up, you can still learn a lot. And…………if they listen a little bit, they can benefit from your experience. Its all good.

I am headed towards the fourth quarter of life. I don’t dwell on that but games are usually won or lost in the fourth quarter. Guts, determination, cunning, and character are what win races in the end, and win games in the fourth quarter. I will have a great quiver of skis, a new mountain bike, a tuned up road bike,and all the clothes needed to enjoy that fourth quarter to the fullest. Positive attitude will never waver, but also, I will focus on what really is important in that fourth quarter. Experience has led me to some conclusions which concentrate on what really wins the game or wins the prize. Kindness to people, a caring serving spirit, a focus on my faith, a love for my family, are really what matter and win the prize in the end. And you can never lose your sense of humor. I lost some good friends this year. Two guys to a heart attack and one guy to cancer. But as I ride the chairlift, run or ride, I laugh thinking about them because I can see Charlie skiing the Heavenly powder, Larry telling him that he needs to work on his turns, and Chip telling them both to take up bowling. That thunder I will hear this summer will tell me that Chip won out on that discussion. So, if you are like the 59 year old kid, get into the game and enjoy that fourth quarter. The game will be won or lost on your efforts. Thanks for reading.

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What in the world is the “Polar Vortex”?

photophotophoto The country was gripped this week in sub zero temperatures and we all heard on the news about the “Polar Vortex”. I am amazed that now we have descriptions for phenomena like snow storms, and cold fronts that are named like Hurricanes. Polar Vortex? Hey folks- it’s January. Most of the country experiences winter and in January you get snow, ice, cold temperatures, darkness, and a general feeling of “woe is me.” Some of us have been spoiled with some milder winters as of late, but in International Falls,Minnesota, Fargo, North Dakota, Buffalo, New York, and all of New England, winter rules in January.

Now, you can either let yourself be gripped in fear and depression as the news media bombards you with tales of woe on a daily basis as you exit your home to school or work in the dark and return in the dark, and cold, and the feeling that you live in a Dickens novel. Or you can adhere to the wonderful description of attitude by Chuck Swindoll when he states that “life is 10 per cent what happens to you and 90 percent how you react to it.” Personally, I like winter as you have seen from my blog posts this winter and last. I am a skier. I like snow. I don’t even mind if I travel and am hampered with delays because I have the attitude that I will get through any inconveniences and get to my destination bound and determined to harvest some of the great skiing conditions that are available. Even when I go to my local area early in the morning, when it is dark, and cold, and the roads are covered with ice and snow, I know that soon I will be making turns.

People asked me this week whether I still run the trails at night when it is in the single digits or below zero temperature. I smiled and said “sure- why not.” I love the air, the snow on the trails and trees, and the general good feeling of health when you finish a run in the winter. Like my friend the Shark says,” there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing choices.” He corrected me on that this weekend by saying,” choices Paddy!” I ski and run in Gore Tex Pro clothing. You can layer and be dry as a bone and protected by the wind. Patagonia makes wonderful clothing like this as seen in the pictures above. My “go to” outfit it the Patagonia “Super Alpine.” As they advertise, it is indeed bomb proof and is great for all outdoor activities. I have the down sweaters that I wear under a shell when I ski and I also have polypropylene shirts that I can layer to use on a run or a mountain bike ride. Layering is the key and if you can keep the wind from penetrating your clothing, you can easily ski, ride, or run in sub zero conditions. Check out http://www.patagonia.com.

The main point here though is attitude. My dad always had an expression that said,” Smile- the fresh air is good for your teeth.” Sure it’s dark, and cold, and snowing, but it is winter!! Embrace the winter and thank God you are alive and have the health to enjoy the trails, paths, roads, and slopes, where you live. I heard a lot of moaning this week about the Polar Vortex and the bad weather and I laughed as I left work to go to the trails to run utilizing my headlamp. I will probably ski in the rain this weekend because we will be on the ass end of the Polar Vortex with warm air being sucked up our way as the Vortex exits out over the ocean. Take it as it comes people. Enjoy life. Enjoy the winter. Get snowshoes, cross country skis, alpine skis, ice skates, Flexible Flyers, toboggans and get out there and put that smile on your face. You might cover that mug up with a scarf but get out there and enjoy the winter. Spring will be here soon enough and we all will enjoy the transition. But in the mean time, enjoy what we have and you will be amazed at how positive attitude will help you in your work place, your home, and in your relationships. Try it. My friend Nancy Leverett who is an active skier and is visually impaired, read my recommended book,” Younger Next Year” by Chris Crowley and told me she went right out and joined a gym. She not only enjoys winter sports like skiing and ice skating, she now is motivated to work out to stay in shape for those activities. Check out http://www.youngernextyear.com Great book that I always recommend to help with attitude adjustment.

Polar Vortex? Bring it on man!! Get that positive attitude, get the best equipment and clothes, and go do it!!! Embrace the winter. Thanks for reading.

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Playing with Fire- Skiing DH Boards.

Erik Guay - Race - Atomic USA As readers of my blog, you know that my background is ski instruction and not ski racing. I dabbled in some racing as a young guy and also in the Masters category but suffice to say, I made nice turns in a course but was not fast. When I worked at Sugarloaf, I had the opportunity to witness Downhill racing up close by working on the Can-Am Downhill course from time to time with the race crew. I witnessed the Hahnnenkamm Downhill in Austria up close by hiking up to the start and then watching the race from the Steilhang turn on the course. It was rock hard and those guys are flying. 90 MPH into the finish. Skiing on a downhill course the day after a race is harrowing because it is like skiing on marble. I can’t imagine going that fast on that surface. Speaking with Ron Biederman ( ex US Team downhiller) one day up in Vermont, I inquired how you develop the technique and frankly the guts to ski that fast. He said that it is acquired over a long time with junior races, senior races and eventually getting up to the national class and World Cup level. I have been watching the speed races on Universal Sports Channel and am always amazed at the skill level of World Cup skiers. Several friends and acquaintances of mine have experience racing the downhill and could probably give a discertation way better than me, but I had a glimpse of the discipline watching these races and even entering 2 masters category races with actual downhill boards. No great results but fun to experience.

I actually bought a pair of downhill skis one time when my friend Eric was living in Vermont. We have a mutual friend who works for Atomic who managed to get us two pair out of their Salt Lake City facility and Eric coached me on how to use them. Basically they sat in my garage until I made one of my treks northward to Vermont and we brought them with us to Killington early in the mornings. No one was on the hill and as I tried to keep Eric in view, I was amazed at how fast you could get up to speed with a pair of 220 cm skis. They are rock solid but the speed is a bit un-nerving if you are not used to it. Eric is used to the speed and I had to learn how to ski these long boards without killing myself or killing someone else. After we made a few runs, some people started to come out and when you see someone doing a wedge turn out into the middle of a trail, it is amazing how fast you can close in on them with the 220s. Seeing that they have the right of way, I had to make decisions in a hurry on where to ski so as not to come close to them. We rocketed by people like that until Eric decided that it was time to put them away and get our regular skis for the rest of the day. In a very Walter Mitty like way, I imagined myself as a downhill racer as I tried to follow Eric but as we skied to the K chair I was always happy to finish another run in one piece. I had a lot of fun on those boards and gained an even greater respect for downhill racers by using the equipment that they used. But my speeds were no where near that level.

My wife and I traveled to Steamboat one year and I took the DH boards with me. I used them early in the mornings and scared myself a few times out there but it was fun to ski the west with them on a perfectly groomed trail. I exchanged them for my regular skis when I picked up my wife for the day and she asked how it was. I didn’t let her know that I was playing with fire out there. I meekly put them away and skied the groomers with her. Eric, Travis, Proctor, Edie, Rosi, Gretl,  I have a lot of respect for you guys racing on that equipment in those kinds of races. For the rest of us mortals, watch the men’s and women’s downhill on the Olympic coverage and you will get a feel for how fast this discipline is.

My use of these skis came to an inauspicious ending when as a member of Team Mike Malone, I used them in the Jimmy Heuga Classic at Seven Springs Resort here in PA. The event was a fundraiser for Muscular Dystrophy and the winner had to raise the most money and ski the most runs. It was amazing to see how fast you could cover 800 vertical feet with the aid of downhill skis and a high speed chairlift. All went well until I went a little too far right on one run, hit a mud patch, ejected out of both bindings, and barreled down the slope in a muddy mess. Fortunately the skis were not damaged and I continued the event looking like I had been in a football game. We would have won but someone at the last minute brought in a check that beat us out at the end of the day. The DH boards were retired after that day never to be used again.

Years have passed since those days and I often think about the fun but scary times that I spent on skis that were really not for a guy like me. My friend Eric has always had the habit of sending me into the realm of the unknown but I somehow come out of it with a great experience and the knowledge that I pushed myself again a little out of my comfort zone. 220 downhill skis will do that to you but looking back, it was worth the scare. Watch the Olympics and have a great winter. Think snow and thanks for reading.

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Determination – Ski The East

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

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

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

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

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

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The Art of the Change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Christmas with the “A” Team

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

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

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

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

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

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The 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.