Category — Non-NZ Adventures

My winter crew went up to the north-country for the last weekend on our ski apartment lease. We have been up there basically every weekend since Christmas riding Jay Peak and Smugglers Notch. Other friends come and go on the weekends, but it’s been the same basic crew of Northeastern cycling team riders and alumni. Every Friday after class or work, we make the 4ish hour drive up from Boston.

We brave the snow storms, the traffic, and the taxing exhaustion from the week. We wake up (sometimes) early enough for first chair/tram. We live in squalor during of the week to pay for our gas, food, and passes. We bundle up, and freeze on The Flyer which is easily the coldest lift on the east coast. We scrape our gear on windblown summits. We hike when it’s too windy for the lifts to run. We hold our secret stashes sacred. We live in between the trees both on the mountain and in the back country. Then we wake up the next day, and finish what our bodies and the lift operators wouldn’t let us on Saturday before making the grueling drive back to Boston running on fumes and redbull.

Why do we do it? For weekends like this one. We were ready for a warm slushy spring weekend. There were no expectations for quality snow in the woods. Flurries were in the forecast. Maybe a dusting of a half of an inch. To be honest, I was happy for anything extra after the 340 inches we were blessed with this season. The clouds decided to stick around all day. We woke up Saturday morning to a foot of fresh dry “champagne” powder with it still coming down. The kind that explodes with each turn. The kind, your snowboard and skis float on rather than cut through. The kind that carries the unrestrained laughter and woops of adults as they regress into childhood excitement in the howling winds of Jay Peak.

We can complain about how much of a disgusting resort Jay Peak is becoming with its ice rinks, hotels, water parks, and parking garages… Yea there’s a freaking parking garage (so you don’t get snow on your car). Gross. They even started selling green cards to rich foreigners to pay for all of this. But at the end of the day, no amount of greed can ruin the splendors that nature rewards to those who are dedicated (to use the term lightly).

This past father’s day weekend my mom and I participated in the Quechee Hot Air Balloon Festival. When my mom called me up a few weeks ago to see if I would go up in a hot air balloon with her (because my dad opted out), I decided that I had to do it. Not because it’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but more as a pre-emptive bucket list crossing off. It’s defiantly one of those things that I could see myself adding to my “do in my lifetime list.” Since it hadn’t occurred to me, I figured I could cross it off before I got that internal hunger later in life… and why not! I mean it was clearly on my mom’s list. Who’s to say I can’t inherit the desire to fly over the earth in a wicker basket tied to a giant blowtorch and balloon?

[simage=289,288,n,left,] We took off, and cheering fair goers cheered. In a blink of an eye we were flying high over Quechee, VT and the famous gorge. Our pilot/captain/basket-master? was a short Richard Dreyfuss like guy. Apparently he drives all over the country with his balloon like a gypsy following balloon festival all summer long. Am I the only one who thinks that’s kind of odd? I guess he’s found a way to make a living doing what he loves, but who grows up thinking of that a viable option for a career and lifestyle? Apparently there is a whole sub culture of hot air balloon fanatics out there walking among us.

We flew over houses and roads. people came out of their homes and cars to look and wave at us. Dogs barked and cows mooed at the weird basket of people tied to a balloon floating in the wind overhead. There is something peculiar about looking down into back yards to see people looking up in wonder and waving. It’s like we just walked through their yards said hi and just walked away. [See all of the photos]

We landed with the aid of the flight crew in some guy’s back yard, as his wife stared in awe from the window as we floated in gently next to her flower patch. Random cars with families stopped and helped us pack up the balloon… and like that we were gone. Like we just played some practical joke on the world. I’m still not sure what the punchline was.

This past Saturday started out pretty early as Jesse and I drove out to the REI in Reading to stand in line for an hour before the store opened. We weren’t the only ones, apparently people had camped out that night. The line was already wrapping around the parking lot when we got there. I guess I should mention the circumstances as to why anyone would stand outside of an outdoor store (in the cold), on a Saturday morning. It was the spring garage sale, where REI sells used and returned equipment for half off the retail price. 10 o’clock hit, and people started running for the gear they wanted. It’s a sad sight to be honest. People were hoarding, pushing, and just acting American all around. Jesse got a nice wool shirt and I got some new hiking pants. Perfect for the brisk day ahead.

[simage=17,288,n,left,]The two of us have been itching to get some hiking in once the ski resorts started to dwindle in fresh snow several weeks ago. We headed North right from REI for a day hike in the Whites. Mt. Hale was our last minute destination. Why not start the season off with a bang and check another 4,000 footer off the list?

When we got there, the logging road to the trail head was closed for the winter months (and for a few more weeks). This meant that we had to park at the main road and hike in with an extra 2.5 miles to tack on to each end of the hike. No matter. It was brisk but sunny and flat. It was 1pm but we had plenty of daylight to play with. I donned my new pants (which were missing a button) and Jesse grabbed his camera with a new wide angle lens he had yet to play with. [See the pictures in the gallery]

[simage=23,288,n,right,]I quickly realized that my new pants weren’t working out. They were cutting off circulation to my legs. Yeah… that tight. Good thing I brought shorts with me just in case. As we ascended, it quickly became apparent that we were not prepared for the amount of snow that we were going to encounter. The snow got deeper and deeper. It was packed down pretty well, but one of us would let out the occasional yelp as our footholds would give way and we would step 1, then 2, then 3, and ultimately 4 feet down through loose snow. We were reluctant to continue once we saw that the foot prints in the snow that we had been following had donned snow shoes. We gave it a shot and second guessed ourselves until we reached the peak. There was little to no payoff waiting for us at the summit. No clearing and no view. Oh well. We headed back down with a few hours of sunlight to spare.

We got back to the car to find that Jesse had left the lights on. The battery was dead. Seeing as how we were in the middle of nowhere and in the off season, getting help was a bit difficult. We called AAA, but who knew when and if they would ever find us. We took to waving down passing cars. It turned into an interesting social experiment. It’s not that I was amazed at the amount of people who didn’t stop. (Those who did, didn’t have jumper cables.) It was the amount of people who didn’t stop and just slowed down to stare. At least pretend you don’t see us. There’s no selfish embarrassment courtesy these days. Needless to say, someone walked into the parking lot from a hike and helped us out. The day was topped off with an amazing meal at my favorite diner: The Tilt’n Diner.