In a message dated 1/7/01 6:39:06 AM Central Standard Time, [log in to unmask]
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<< (whaddaya say, ][<anuck ][<en from Up Near Ithaca?) who lived all his/her
life in this miserable, initially white, but rapidly turning gray coating
and may think there is some benefit (cultural or otherwise) to be gained by
freezing your ass off, skiing into trees, etc. >>

I don't like metal runners. Preference for frozen seat of the pants, waxed
cardboard, cafeteria trays & flying saucers that lack guidance. My experience
w/ skis is wooden, rounded wood edges & beartrap bindings... inherited from
my mother -- and, as many times as I did sled or ski down tree slopes,
usually mad and at high speed, literal tree slopes in the local woods... not
having the wherewithal to go to safe ski slopes but once, I never did run
into a live tree... though I ended up with several stiches in the face for
running a flexible guidance enabled death machine into a wood pile, dead
trees, face first... I now tend to go feet first as I hope to continue to the
end run. One of those few ambulatory stories in my life where I did not get
hit in the head with a rock or smash my face into one.

I'm much more experienced at hiking and camping in deep snow and during
blizzards -- not overly crowded an activity, leaves room for contemplation,
"Why the f__k am I out here?" I also am quite happy breaking ice, though I
avoid this in old age. The circulation in the feet is not as good as it used
to be. I especially enjoyed slicking up a flat section of snow, then running
and sliding on the feet. This could be done cheaply with a certain amount of
artful spinning & jumping. Sort of like skateboarding without the board. Had
skates once, another hand-me-down, they did not fit, figure skates, a bit
tight... so much for grace and form. Then there is the veritable snow
mobile... last one used I was drunk out of my gourd on apple cider, real
smooth stuff -- did better than my mentor, the 62 yr. old stonemason who,
also quite drunk on apple cider and burbon, ran his borrowed machine into a
snow bank, the only way for him back from the lake cabin, fell off, buried
the machine. He then floundered around cursing until we could get him out.
Years later he got hit by a tree and busted up pretty bad, one of those
things snow country woodcutters have to worry about. He and I spent an entire
winter building a stone house. When Spring came one day I looked out past the
canvas, saw sunlight and ran away until he looked me up and asked me what the
hell was wrong with me. I still don't know.

I think my most enduring winter adventure was walking alone several miles at
night, in the dark, during an ice storm. Don't remember if the soles of my
boots were waxed or ground smooth as a baby's 'ss or not. Smooth leather or
knoby neoprene soles? Staying on the road, the route home, was something of a
problem as I kept falling on my arse then sliding into a ditch. That about
did it for my winter pleasures of sledding and besides driving... last Friday
evening a 5 hour commute... in the snow I prefer now to use winter as an
excuse to stay indoors -- how many book readers near the end of the story,
the last three pages of a mystery adventure, have had to endure the summer
lament, "It is such a beautiful day outside. Why don't you go out?". Nobody
really tells me it would be a good idea to go out in the cold. Which comes
back to the overexposure and the chronic cold in the back that bothered me
for about ten years. Now all I get w/ the moderate LI/NYC winters is
broncitis every year.

Oh, then there are the various chimney building experiences during winter
storms... like the one where I had to climb out on the ridge of the 2-story
roof, winter morning West of Syracuse, still dark before sunlight and large
flakes of snow effect off the Great Lakes -- tied to a rope with a bowlin
around the waist. I slipped and went swinging (sliding WHHEEEEE!) downward,
stopping just above the eve... but I don't do stupid things like that, at
least not twice.

And there is the all winter job of building that friggin house foundation,
supposed to take two weeks took three months, that ended my ever wanting to
be a contractor. Laying concrete blocks that were thawed out in front of the
propane salamander with the ice & steamy thaw of water vapor rising out of
them. We punched holes in the temporary plastic ceiling above to get our
water, before that we got it w/ a bucket out of the creek. Put a 55 gallon
drum and a chimney flue, with fuel cut from the nearby deadwood, buried to
heat the sand. And the precious dead tree, damn the token dead tree, the
owners really freaked out when one of the crew cut it down and burned it...
they had the driveway dug with a dogleg specially to miss the tree. Sled with
runners? A sled with 2 x 6 wooden waxed runners to pull the sand down the
hill, two guys together as a team, one in front to pull, one in back to
brake. No payment until the end. Then the GC did not want to pay us.
Customer, a mathematician, complained the house was 3 degrees off from their
desired orientation. Burnt my butt... I had never seen a builder's level,
read about it but never touched one, before the GC left me w/ it one morning
in October and the dozer showed up an hour later.

Advice: Avoid hitch hiking during winter weather in northern climes. Having
crossed the Cascades a few times from Eastern Oregon to Portland I found it a
bit less than desirable, particularly during intermission. Which reminds me,
again, of snow and crossing the Cascades in January with my '46 Chevy PU w/
bald tires in ''71. Sledding?

][<en