All of The Ingredients

In spring, metaphors bloom in the minds of would-be writers like early-season daffodils. Something about warm sunshine and greening pastures following on the heels of a long, cold winter encourages otherwise pedestrian thinkers to wax philosophical. The problem is that it happens to me as well. It really is an amazing phenomenon and, truthfully, I don’t mind even if it does crack me up a bit. This year, however, the timing has been a bit off.

The past few weeks here in Vermont have been wonderful spring skiing weather. Temperatures never really strayed above the mid-40’s Fahrenheit, we had a good, consistent wind across the summit of Okemo as we do in winter, and we had a decent amount of sunshine. We even had a bit of snow. Perfect, except that we had no skiing. If we’d had a normal snowpack this past winter we’d have been fine, but the exceptionally hot end of March simply devastated Okemo’s (and everyone else’s) snow and we shut the doors early. To be perfectly frank, I ski a ton of days each year and, other than the resulting financial pinch, I don’t normally mind when the season winds down. The problem this year is that what would have been great April skiing weather was lousy weather for just about anything else. I do love cycling and am very devoted to it, but when I have to dress warmer to be on the bike than I did on the last day I skied, cycling can devolve into mere exercise. I do put in the hard miles as a down payment for those warm days when I can really find peace of mind in the saddle, but it’s just not the same. Until today, that is.

Today is April 14th, and in many ways it’s the official kick-off of my off-season. My definition of a perfect off-season day includes some of the following: when not wearing shoes for cycling, hiking, or other outdoor activity I wear only flip-flops; when not engaged in some outdoor activity I mostly sit and read a good book in the sunshine; my trusty old beach chair becomes a more integral a piece of furniture than anything else in my house; fresh air circulates around my house like a transfusion; my neighborhood here along the flanks of Okemo is so devoid of human activity that a big gust of wind is the loudest noise interfering with my enjoyment of the sounds of the woodpeckers hammering away in the trees; and my car sits idle. The air smells sweeter, the sky seems bluer, food tastes fresher and is, and my blood pressure drops precipitously below its mid-winter high. I am not tired, my knees and back do not ache, and I have some well-earned soreness in my legs from my morning ride. Fantastic.

There is still a fair bit of skiing going on in resorts around the United States this week, but none of it is here in the East. Would I be happy if we’d had a normal winter and those of us here in Vermont were still enjoying all that spring skiing has to offer? Absolutely. Until today, I was wishing that we were, but with the warm sunshine and light breeze in our quiet town, I’m perfectly happy to have started my off-season in earnest. People often ask how I endure two winters each year, and in response I explain that I get to experience spring twice. I’m not being disingenuous when I say that a great spring can make it all worthwhile, especially when at the tail end of a lot of great powder days. Today, even without those great powder days, it’s still working out just fine.

My book is sitting on my beach chair on the porch, so pardon me while I go back outside. I strongly recommend that you do the same.