I broke in the new cross country skis this weekend. I have a long but really infrequent history with cross country skiing, starting way back in about 1976 I'm guessing. I remember traipsing across the street from our house in St. Jean, Quebec with my mom and dad and brothers. I'm guessing, but Dad probably had a great idea that this would be a cool family activity. My only memories from this era involve me screaming and frustrated, ie throwing a temper tantrum, that I couldn't keep up. Or move forward really. It must have had something to do with the purple plastic skis. Those skis were made from the same material as my brothers' "banana" sled that was meant to scream down hills. Yah, no traction. And that's the last time I remember all of us skiing together.
The next memories are from 1979ish when we lived on a radar station on the north shore of the Saint Lawrence River in Quebec. Moisie is where I discovered the outdoors. Freedom, a backpack, a peanut butter sandwich and tons of kids with a sense of adventure came in handy for exploring the forests and beaches through winter and summer. Here was where I remember waxing up my real-deal wood skis, grabbing my bamboo poles and venturing into the muted snowy forest with my dad. We would ski into toasty warm fire-heated cabins. Or maybe there was only one... and I sort of remember it smelling like beer and being crowded. Other times we were out in the dark with our 5lb batteries in our packs and minor-style headlamps over our toques. That's a more pure memory. Ha ha ...
After that I probably skied a handful of times at the Toronto Zoo, and then on the golf course with the moose when I lived in Anchorage, Alaska. I've never learned how to do it properly but it's always just fun to get out into the snowy woods and get your heart pumping. I've spent a lot more time snowshoeing in recent years and I'd forgotten how fun it feels when you get a good glide and you slip along the top of the snow and the skis make that soft scuffing sound.
I took Sante out for a ice foggy, snowy walk in the morning, some shovelling (that's been going on daily around here) and then, after a stop at Bow Cycle, grabbed some McBreakfast and hit the highway, which was equally foggy and snowy. But only until Sibbald Flats, then it was sunny clear sailing into Canmore. I met Kate M at her place and, by happy coincidence, arrived just as "Ben the nordic ski expert" showed up. He offered to "hot wax" my glide zones for me. Um. Ok? I guess this is important. At any rate, he set me up with the use of Kate and Chad's garage pro shop. Sweet! Then Kate and I drove the rest of the way to Mt. Shark together. As soon as we left Canmore we were in heavy snowfall the rest of the way. Crazy weather. It also went from -13 in Calgary and Canmore to -1 at the trailhead. The wax we started out with sucked. Quick update and we were off. We were out for a couple of hours and it was a good re-introduction for me. Not a lot of climbing or big descents. And not one bail. Woot! Then it was back to the city and over to help Sarah and Chad unload their moving van. New Calgarians! Nice!
Today started out snowy again. More shovelling. Later in the morning Suz came by and we had some coffee before heading out to hook up with the hockey team for our annual Christmas brunch. After that the plan was to head out for a Nosehill mountain bike ride in the snow. Suz, the Aussie, couldn't get her head around the temperature (-13) and bailed. Michele, of course, didn't, so we met at the parking lot. Gearing up in the deep chill, Michele realized she forgot her cycling boots. No matter! She'd ride in her very fashionable winter boots. I figure this is not a bad plan anyway. I'm not sure how slick it's going to be and I'm seeing clip pedal issues in my future. That never happened though. I wheeled my bike up out of the parking lot with Sante bouncing around beside me, clearly thrilled the bike is with us. I got up there, hopped on the bike, started pedalling and ... nothing. The drive train is doing its thing. All the rings are engaged and chain is humming around beautifully, but the wheel isn't moving.
Thinking I'm having some kind of massive blonde moment, I wait for Michele to come up the hill. Yeah, she's seeing the same thing I am. Both of us were stumped. The plan change involved taking Sante for a hike through the park instead. Less fun and less of a workout, but at least I had to work a little harder in my cycling shoes!
We swung by Gerry's place afterwards, hauled the bike inside, and ... bam! Working fine. His best guess is the grease in the hub froze. Or some water was in there and frozen. I have no idea. I've go to get the race wheels off that bike anyway, and put the heartier Nobby Nicks and the alternate wheelset on there. Maybe the fancy race wheels just ain't cut out for sub zero riding.
That wrapped up the outdoors for the weekend.
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