Skiing with Steve

Steve is one of my oldest friends in Virginia. Valerie and his wife met at the mall where they were both pushing their new babies (who are now adults approaching 30) in their strollers; the two couples have been friends ever since. Steve and I used to do a lot of outdoor activities together, but over time that somehow ceased to happen - I think he may have gotten tired of my general unavailability, as among band, kayaking, etc., my weekends get pretty booked. So, it was a pleasant surprise when he messaged me to see if I would be interested in a day trip to go cross-country skiing.

The DC area is a terrible place to live if you're interested in cross-country skiing. Many winters are devoid of snow (and unlike downhill skiing, XC is too spread out for snow-making), and when there is snow the roads are generally too fouled up to be able to get anywhere to go skiing. The best bet is to look for snow in the Alleghenies/Appalachian mountains in western Maryland and West Virginia.

Steve and I set out to ski at New Germany State Park in western Maryland. I remember the first time he and I went there years ago, we joked that the name of the place sounded like a secret camp where the Fourth Reich was being planned and envisioned showing up to find the ski lodge staffed by young Aryans in crisp SS uniforms, perhaps with squads of brown shirts out grooming the trails. Twenty years ago that was a funny concept to riff on; however, given the recent political history of the U.S. and the number of pro-Trump signs we spotted as we drove through rural western Maryland, we decided maybe it was a little too close to the truth to be very funny anymore. As we exited the highway at Grantsville we saw a house with big "Let's Go Brandon" signs and I swear, someone hung in effigy from a tree - but by the time the shock wore off we were well past it and I forgot to take a second look on the way home. Perhaps it was the home of the Park Superintendent of New Germany.

The park has pretty bare bones support. There's a building with bathrooms and ski rental, but that's about it. No lodge, no food, no nothing - but also, no entrance fee! After making a quick bathroom stop we drove over to the trailhead and suited up. Now I must say, Steve is the least gear-head person of any outdoorsy person I know. Most of us outdoorsy types have basements full of one-of-everything from REI (well, at least one of everything, admits the guy with three kayaks, four bicycles, and four tents). I was dressed in winter weight running pants (my absolute favorite miraculously warm pants for wintertime running, skiing and biking) and similar hi-tech fabric layers on top. Steve, on the other hand was wearing a pair of old cotton khakis and a plaid cotton shirt, an ensemble a little more business casual than one would usually see on a ski trail. In the past I have seen Steve get soaking wet skiing in jeans - apparently he's learned the lesson that cotton isn't a great outer layer for skiing, as he pulled on a pair of rain pants over his khakis. But that was his one sop to special purpose outdoors gear.

Since snow is so elusive in the mid-Atlantic I ski infrequently and so never get any good at it. Once I got my skis on it took me a little bit to find my rhythm. Fortunately, the snow was perfect - no clumping, no sticking, and lots of glide. We are both old men and so opted for the fairly flat Turnpike Trail. We skied to the end of that trail then stopped for lunch, using the wooden barrier which marks the end of the trail as a table. Steve has been to this park a number of times - certainly much more recently than I have - and swore up and down that the trail ended there, even though tracks seems to continue beyond the barrier. After finishing lunch we decided to continue on and explore where the tracks went, though based on Steve's recollections we expected the trail to peter out in short order. Instead, we were treated to the prettiest and most undisturbed scenery of the outing. We skied on, marveling at the beauty of the place as if upon crossing the wooden barrier we had entered Narnia. It was really nice skiing and we started to run out of light before we ran out of trail or desire, and eventually we reluctantly turned around.

Out on the trails

Pretty creek deep in the woods

One of the interesting things about living in Washington D.C. is that many of your social friends are, in their day jobs, world experts on some esoteric subject or another. I've got cycling friends who can speak eloquently and at length on urban development and housing policy, and have a musician friend who could talk to you about the ins and outs of the healthcare system until you turn blue in the face. Steve, until his recent retirement, was a senior official at the Federal Reserve and our light, casual conversation as we skied included the response of central banks around the world to cryptocurrencies such as Bitcoin, and how the Fed's view has evolved from being totally against crypto to actually considering making the dollar itself a Central Bank Digital Currency (which apparently Bahamas has already done, and Sweden and China - among others - are already experimenting with). Also, where inflation is headed and whether Republicans have any grounds for blaming the rise in inflation on Biden's stimulus or infrastructure packages. Y'know, the DC equivalent of light chit-chat about football.

Yes, there was a dial tone!

Last, I will note that my big fear of the day (other than tumbling headlong into a ravine) was whether I could keep my hands warm, which has become a real problem for me in outdoor activities in wintertime. I equipped myself with my electrically heated gloves, into which I also slipped some chemical handwarmers. Between the two my hands stayed pretty toasty the whole day, I'm happy to report. 

All in all, a successful outing. I look forward to doing it again the next time there's good snow - whenever that is.