The Mount van Hoevenberg Blog

Finally, I found a downhill turn that I can take flat out. It’s the sweeping right hander that takes you into Mount van Hoevenberg’s biathlon range. Look around the corner, where you want to go. In the name of all that’s holy, don’t look down at your ski tips. Step lively in the apex. The transition back to diagonal stride is a challenge.

A few months ago, I moved to Saranac Lake. I’m getting used to the rhythm of life in the north country. I should have known better, but I dilly-dallied with pre-season ski prep. So as Mount van Ho and other northeast ski centers open, I’m still organizing my quiver.

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Mount van Hoevenberg, December 6th: my first day on snow. You can’t control the weather, so while my drive to then north country on the preceding day was sunny, 6th December was anything but.

After driving up on Monday, I woke up at 1:45 AM after 4 hours’ sleep. I couldn’t relax, so I dropped a Xanax (DEA, I have a scrip). Invariably, I sleep well but wake up later than I would like. I moved slow in the morning, and by the time I arrived at the Ho, it was raining.

The gloom was offset by the sliding athletes I saw as I hauled my gear to the lodge.

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Monday afternoon. On the Northway, the sun in our eyes as the shooting brake ate miles, heading back to the flatlands. My arthritic feet let me know they were unhappy with the day’s three-hour ski.

I said to Lars, “I used to think that if my fairy godmother offered me a choice of a 25-year-old cardiovascular system or 25-year-old feet, no contest. It’d be the motor. Anymore, I think I’d rather have 25-year-old feet.” Too many birthdays, and the wear and tear catches up with you.

Having company on a ski expedition was a welcome change to my usual solo missions. Lars and I first met in Prospect Mountain’s lodge over 20 years ago.

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