Winter Sports

It's been cold here in Iowa. By cold, I mean cold. Cold like I didn't even know could happen. I've adapted to this in various ways. One is spending almost all of my time at home under at least one (and up to three) blankets. Another is by wearing many layers of clothing, all the time. However, over time I find myself needing less clothing and less blankets to be comfortable. This is good.

Last week Brian finally talked me into going cross country skiing. I can admit I was resistant to this proposal (some latent trauma from my ill-fated attempts at downhill). I eventually agreed to rent some skis and hit the trails and, of course, I loved it. It made the cold not so bad. It made the snow something worth having on the ground. We went three times in quick succession. One of these was to the cross country course on the U of I campus. As it's groomed for skiing, there are two little grooves in the snow one puts one's skis in and follows. This is nice for beginners like me as it allows one to concentrate on important things like how to slide along on skis and not fall down instead of piddling, incidental concerns like steering.

Anyway, Brian's friend Sean met us at the course, and the two of them raced off. I slid my merry way forward. The snow was white. The sky was white. There was white in the trees and my skis were even mostly white. Snow that covers large expanses of open land like that seems to impose a hush on everything. It squeaks underfoot. It is beautiful.

I was taking all this in when I saw a skier coming towards me. He was tall, and moving fast. As he approached I began to wonder if he was wearing some strange variety of respirator. There seemed to be lines on his face and mouth.

But when he came within a few feet, I saw his face was uncovered; so bright red and wind-chapped it looked artificial contrasting sharply with his gray beard. And there was a genuine icicle hanging from his nose that was perhaps an inch and a half long.

I briefly questioned the wisdom that had brought me to the middle of a snow covered field in sub-zero temperatures, towards sunset, with long, slick pieces of plastic snapped onto my feet.

Then the other guy skied on, and the sun sank lower. The cool thing about snow is it reflects back light of all colors. I stood at the top of an empty field and watched the ground turn pink.

This weekend I bought boots and poles. Monday, the weather broke. It's been above freezing two days in a row and all the snow has melted.

Next year, I suppose.