The olde year ended quietly for the Corporation.
With the four prior (consecutive, inline, one after the other) nights being diddled away on the trainer – to the tune of an ass numbing 7hrs 52mins. 

Resolute, a few durable souls rode New Years Day.
Out of doors. 

Fortunately, in a cup half full manner uncharacteristic of the Corporation, the deep freeze makes for excellent trail condition type stuff.  In addition to making the snow more tractionable it also prevented recent melt-flooding from factoring.

That is from factoring too muchly.

A pleasant reminder this ride was… 

WINTER FEELS GOOD.

Rejuvenated and Motivated – The next day there was more riding.  Night riding.  Night riding in the snow.  Out of doors.

Editor’s Warning: NIGHT ICE IS INVISIBLE BUT NOT INSLIPPERY

On a roll, I awoke the next day ready…and Saturday brought something new.

CROSS COUNTRY SKIING.

That is correct.  Cross country skiing.

A “sport” previously and historically relegated and stereogated by the Corporation as a ‘no better than bowling, baseball and Star Trek‘.
A simple hobbie for olde ladies, Europeans and ONLY the uber knobbiest member types of cyclings geekdom . 

Editor’s Note:  As THE Corporation spokes mouth I would like to preface the coming review with a statement indicating that the Corporations views of “XC” Skiing remain valid, totally intact and entirely re-enforced as a result of the experience. 

So how do I get from there to here?
Simple.  During the Holiday Hullabaloo the Summers family delivered a set of lightly used Crosscountry Skiis, Poles and two pairs of boots.
A gift.  
Victory? 

Of the boots, the Purple People Eaters fit like a glove.  
You must see them in person, if they don’t make you smile you are dead inside.
They even feel fast. 

In addition to a keen eye for fashion, apparently, XC equipment designer types have a warped sense of humor.
…footless chicken tips, web footed poles…certainly points for directivity.

All this free to me.  A gift.  
Victory.  

Wee Tom, also new to XCS, rented.  
As an owner of equipments I was all too happy to scoff at his moany-loaners…pffft.

 

Allez!
We declared (immediately) that this was easy.

That is until these two snickered by in a blinding flash of grey.  

Beat down.
Their bouquet of moth balls and urine soaked cotton hung over us for the remainder of the loop.  
A pungent reminder of this utter failure.  

Tom sucked and he made me suck by osmosis.  That’s the truth.

Rental time ticked down as we crawled our way back to the chalet…when I heard a faint squeal.
I looked back and was reminded that (in our haste) I had neglected to teach Tom one vital skill. 

The snow plow. 

As we departed Albion I was glad to have discovered an alternative to cycling, that is, when trail conditions call for hub deep snow.

It was not until the next morning that I fully appreciated the true extent of the effort spent…
I must have been doing it wrong.

Time to prepare.  
Failure tastes like pablum.  
Time to train.
To ready myself for the next geriatric adventure.
Time to do as the snow monsters do.

This entry was posted on Monday, January 5th, 2009 at 13:27 and is filed under General Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.