From our earliest years, we all have some memories etched in our minds from the time we spent with our parents. Many of mine are from the family-vacation and kinestetic variety: like the annual summer roadtrip back to Minnesota, five tight in the 1965 AMC Rambler; Or, heading to Eugene, Oregon's Hayward Field with my dad for the NCAA Track Championships, and sneaking my way to watch the event from the most intimate seat out big house to jogging, striding and stretching among the competitors during their final pre-race preparations on the warm-up track.
Another more everyday rememberance I am reminded of today with the expiration of Bert Sugar came from the crackling light of the transister-tubed living room television set. On new Simpsons episode days, commercial time could be treacherous as ESPN Classics was apt to replay classic boxing matches. My dad - or "Pappa" as I used to call him back then - is a bit fascinated by boxing. I don't know exactly why, but this interest in boxing surely says something about him. One Simpsons or Seinfeld commercial break could turn into fifteen rounds of championship boxing. Of course, as a kid I could not take my eyes off Ali's fluttering legs and lightning jabs, though my favorite boxer at the time was the slippery, counter-punching "Sweat Pea" Pernell Whitaker. Mr. Whitaker was not a knockout artist; but, rather a steady-attacking surgeon in the ring.
I always liked how Michael Buffer boxing announcer always finished his introductions with the guttural roaring, "Let's get ready to rumm-mm-emm-mm-ble!" Anything else was anything less. Without Mr. Buffer's trademarked catchphrase, a fight felt a bit anti-climatic, even before the boxing began.
Another boxing character was the felt fedora wearing, always cigar chomping, gristled old-schooled writer Bert Sugar. If I ever find my voice as a writer, I'm sure it will be from following the advice in the words of Mr. Sugar, quoting Red Smith:
"You first cut your wrist, then you bleed on paper. Then you write." It's in this process that one finds the story lead, the storyline, and the personalities worth talking about.
(Mr. Sugar covered more than just boxing. Consider this lead while covering a no-hitter in baseball: "It was as unbelievable as Santa Claus suffering vertigo, Captain Bligh sea sickness, Mary having a little lamb..." With a lead like that, you either scare the hell out of the Sunday morning edition sports reader, or you hook 'em.)
At the beginning, I could hardly stand this television. Soon, though, seeing and hearing Mr. Sugar talking with the Sugar Ray Leonard and Angelo Dundee's of the world made for an education. Hearing him talk, you saw a man who could cut through the chaff and get to a truth revealed in the arena. You got the unmistakeable feeling of a man who loved his work, who was encyclopedic in his learned knowledge, and respected by both the trainers and boxing artists themselves. Hearing him talk was to hear in the back of your mind the tip-tappering of his keys, Mr. Sugar's face marred by sweat, concentration and the filament of typewriter ink.
I am sure many a man appreciated Mr. Sugar's candor from the ringside corner view. He's the man who brought Sugar Ray and Sweat Pea and Boom Boom Mancini into my cultural encyclopedia. In doing your job, you helped me understand something about my dad -- and, thus, have helped me understand a little something about myself. Mr. Sugar, thanks for cutting the wrist, and bleeding on paper.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Scenes from the Road: Swiss Alps Edition
Snowfences high into the low-oxygen air of the Engadin Valley keep Pontresina safer from avalanche.
Long distance ski tour with the American crew the day after the Ski Marathon.
The Graubunden Canton, and the Engadin Valley, hold the Steinbock in the highest regard. I never got to see the mountain goat in its native habitat. But I did find this alien-looking deer hanging from a hotel wall. A little eerie. In a good way.
Skiing in Leinzerheide, the little known gem of Swiss skiing.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Vasaloppet: Insider's Edition
One of the coolest ski races in the game has to be Swedish Vasaloppet. The track starts in the village of Salen and ends downtown in the streets of Mora, 90 kilometers away. This ultra-marathon is based on the ski trek Gustav Vasa took in the 16th Century to rally his countrymates to revolt against the Danes who had overtaken and occupied Sweden. Anyways, enough of the history lesson.
This year saw hard packed, fast tracks, leading to the fastest Vasaloppet times ever. Sweden's Jorgen Brink took home the men's crown. He got to drive home in a bright shiny new car as a time-record bonus. Vibeke Skofterud took the women's crown. She also set a new women's record. Instead of a new car, Vibeke came back to Norway with a fine bouquet of tulips.
In related news, the sister of the Duchess of Cambridge - the former Kate Middleton - finished the Vasaloppet ski race in 7 hours and 13 minutes, alongside 15,800 competitors in the bright Swedish sun. Afterwards Pippa Middleton told Swedish tv that the race was "a little tiring." Pippa, just so you know, you just rose to the top of my cool girls celebrity list. Somewhere Madeleine, the princess of Sweden sheds a tear back in Stockholm.
The boys of Trondheim (check out powerdudes.com) made quite an appearance at Vasaloppet. Good thing former world sprint champ Johan Kjolstad showed he had the long distance lungs, finishing just 2 seconds behind Mr. Brink for the title, cash and car. When you wear a suit as ugly as this, you better bring yer a-game on raceday.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Aspire & Expire
The news came when I was in the hamlet of Sjusjoen, in the hills above Lillehammer, Norway: Three Dead in Stevens Pass Avalanche
***
Why the appeal of affixing clinging skins, clicking into rear-heal releasing bindings and heading into the backcountry? My ITA mentor Greg Peck says this gets back to the soul of sport. And the way he says it, you know it's true. Some of the last words Daniel Zimmerman, the closest person to me I've lost to winter's fury said to me was, "We got to get up in the mountains together again (pointing to the Enchantment Range of the Cascades just above) and receive their good tidings."
Dan leading the crew into his backyard playground.
I've never known another to be such a fun-hog as Dan. He had the ability to take the moment at hand and fill it to the brim with kinesthetic energy and conversation. I can see A.E. Housman penning the words that Dan, and now Chris and Jim Jack and John were the very ones able to fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds of distance run.
After you leave the hometown you grew up in, it's never quite the same to come back home to. I still feel a deep connection to the valley. But the parent's sold the house, and moved back to the city 30 miles away. More and more, I am left with memories. These mental etchings will be with well into my time as an elderly man sitting at a lunch counter ordering a ruben-and-rye at Rumplestilskin's Delicatessen. Thanks for the memories. You are missed. Profoundly.
***
My connection to Chris Rudolph and Jim Jack didn't run back to the first day my family moved to 107 Mill Street in Leavenworth. But they were great friends of friends, the kind of people you look to get to know better if you were ever able to move out of the suitcase and settle back down in the Upper Valley. The best word to describe them would be characters. This is just how the Seattle Times reporter described those caught in the February avalanche - "Residents of the small town of Leavenworth mourned the loss of three "very beloved characters" who lived and breathed Leavenworth." Sometimes, a writer and a friend gets it just right. At Chris's memorial, one spoke about how Chris was an amplifier of life. The following are his words:
In a parallel universe, Chris, Jim Jack, Johnny and the rest of the crew skied safely and ecstatically down to the highway. The Stevens Pass van that Chris would surely have had en route would load them up and deliver them back to the resort in ecstasy and disbelief of how epic and how easy it all was. I know this, because I’ve been on that van ride. I’ve been at the bar afterwards as we all raised a glass to Chris for facilitating this finite slice of heaven. If we could only have realized how finite it would really be.
Chris and I shared many of these beautiful moments. Skiing, celebrating, making music, working, traveling, exploring, planning and giving freely of the gift of joy. He was a man with whom I had more in common than nearly anyone else in my life. Being around him gave me the feeling that my actions and motivations in life were of the highest tier, because the same actions and motivations were his.
My perspective on this is not unique. Chris served as an amplifier of life, in full support of anything positive, brave or inspired. For the people with whom he connected, Chris was a motivator, a collaborator and a model for fully living. A life more fully and joyfully lived creates stronger bonds. My dear friend Chris Rudolph created more of these bonds with more people than anyone I can think of.
Yesterday while in the midst of living his creed, Chris was killed. When he died he was in his element; on skis, in the mountains, on his favorite run, sharing the wealth with his close friends and a crew of people experiencing the place for the first time. This was Chris Rudolph at his finest.
What Chris has left for us is a profound sense of loss that is more burdensome and acute than many of us have experienced before. But more importantly, he’s left us a guide for interacting with the world around us. We’re left with the knowledge that we have a small window of opportunity in this life to forge friendships, to inspire, to live and to love. It’s time to open the floodgates and let it all fly. It’s what Chris would do.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
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