The Mines are Open

A few days off the bike, in the throes of a head cold that won't leave me alone (one of the ancillary risks of having children, right up there with being sent to a nursing home when you're 80 and you accidentally pee your pants), the Sudafeds did their job and the kids and I made the trek to the Mines of Spain in Dubuque for our first real ski of the season.

This is kind of late for me to get some ski miles in, the transitional time between rideable roads and skiable trails can be a long one here in northeastern Iowa; we are often sandwiched between glowing ski reports at St. Mary's in Winona and temps in the 50's in southern Iowa.  As we get closer to the American Birkebeiner, skiers get more and more agitated when they get quality snow time in.  Now, that doesn't seem to be a problem, with daily blizzard and winter storm warnings, the trails seem to be guaranteed snow and cold for the foreseeable future.

Janet left for her friends' doctoral ceremonies at the University of Northern Iowa last night, so it was me and the boys getting our skis waxed this morning.  Karl has a pair of combi skis that can go either way, classic or skate, and we had them waxed for classic skiing last week in our abortive attempt to ski the Colesburg Golf course in high winds and 10 degree temps.  Trying to skate with grip wax is a terrible, awful thing, so dad soaked the base with Fast Wax purple a couple of times and did warm scrapes to clear all of the grippy stuff out.  Ski waxing is even more of a process than gluing tubulars, especially if cleaning the base is in the cards, so an hour later I emerged from the basement workshop with two pairs of skis in hand, freshly waxed with Fast Wax blue, a good training wax for middle temps and cheap enough when bought in large bricks.

The first ski also means installing the old ski rack on Janet's new xD (she took the Element with the ski box to Cedar Falls).  Often the first ski of the year includes a scramble to find clothes, ski racks, wax, skis, matching poles that haven't been used since the previous February.  By noon we were ready, checked the Iowa Ski Blog for trail news, and out the door for the drive to the Mines.

Karl and Johann are dressed in stylish orange and red tops with matching hats so they don't get shot by hunters also using the park.  As I write that it seems ridiculous that being shot would creep into the realm of possibilities for a ski experience, but there you have it, the strange result of modern farming, elimination of predators, scarcity non-farmed pieces of land in Iowa, our infatuation with meat, the American mythos of the frontiersman providing for his family, and our love of guns and cars above all else.  Ah, America!

We didn't get shot, in fact didn't even hear a gunshot; the deep snow must have discouraged would-be hunters on the second last day of the season.  The worst of non-skiing related interlopers we encountered was a woman walking her dog on the trail, an activity almost as disconcerting as men dressed in orange hunting Bambi.

Johann plied his classic trade, tearing up the new classic trails running parallel to the skate trail on the north loop.  Wayne, the groomer, had outdone himself, the skate trail was wide and smooth, a bit soft but that's typical for this time of year.  Gone were the classic trails bisecting the uphill skate sections, gone were

some small pines on the northern section that had created a narrow, icy lane with limbs hanging at head level.  Karl skated and I moved between the two as we negotiated the trail.  After a bit, we were greeted by ski and bike buddy Bruce, who we've run into many times over the years in far-flung locales such as Mora and Minocqua.

We skied for almost two hours and, when Karl was struggling to stand, we decided it was time to call it a day, a great day out at the Mines of Spain.