Street (skiing) life

By Jen Heller
Reader Contributor

Each season that rolls around, as the weather shifts, I look out the window with a smile and say, “Ahh… this is my favorite season.” (Every month except August, that is. Yes, August, I thumb my nose at you, with your dry vegetation, talc-y trails, hot restless nights, and constant threat of smoke or fire. Who needs August?) 

The best thing about winter is the reemergence of my favorite secret society: a siblinghood of cheapskates, who emerge in the dark hours and glide silently through the still intersections. That’s right, street skiers — I’m talking about you. 

Street skiing is both an artform and an exercise, like the best of guilty pleasures. When I pass a fellow street-skier with my dog clipped to my waist, all of us trotting smoothly through the quiet of dawn, we give each other smug little nods as if to say, “Isn’t it silly that we’re the only ones out here?” 

The author and Lina ready themselves for another urban Nordic skiing mission. Courtesy photo.

I picked up my love of street skiing at my grandma’s house in rural Michigan. In the ’90s, my brother and I would strap on her oversized adult skis and just head out, anywhere, with the kind of mind-boggling freedom that we rarely experienced in our childhood. We could go at any pace we chose, any place we chose and, so long as we stuck together, the town was ours. Glide… kick. Glide… kick. Glide… stumblestumblestumble… glide…

Don’t get me wrong — in our tenfold-larger town of Sandpoint, I’m thrilled that official venues for cross-country skiing are experiencing an explosion of interest. The Sandpoint Nordic Club has worked some wonders in the past decade, first at the University Extension and now at Pine Street Woods. 

I can rattle off more than five groomed areas that I can XC ski just in east Bonner County; and, for those Sandpointians willing to make a slightly farther pilgrimage, Priest Lake beckons with its own beautiful courses. There’s all the endless Forest Service roads with their edgy potential adventures. And then there are all our favorite summer locations, with the bonus of less traffic in the winter months. Ross Creek Cedars? Round Lake? Sandpoint-to-Dover along the receded lakeshore beaches? Peaceful, solitary and friggin’ beautiful.

For those of us who work nine-to-five — or longer — there is nothing like being able to roll out of bed and ski straight out your front door. I ski to the grocery store. I ski the dog’s morning walk. I ski at 9 p.m. before bed or at 6 a.m. before work. I ski to the library and then ski to the bank, dog running happily at my side. 

My friends roll their eyes when they get yet another text pushing an inappropriately early adventure: “Anyone wanna get up and street ski before the plows ruin it?” 

Yeah, the pavement isn’t very forgiving when you fall, but you only need an inch or so of mediocre quality snow on cold asphalt and one set of car tire tracks to drop your skis into, and suddenly you’re this close to being a feathered fiend. 

No powder on Schweitzer? Street skiing loves a compressed and crappy snowfall! Sandpoint’s snow plows running behind? Ski to work! Want to start your day with an open-mouthed grin? That one’s for you to answer. 

Street skiing tips for noobs:

• Procure a pair of skis and poles solely dedicated to your street-skiing activities. This should be the cheapest possible secondhand gear you can find — my first XC ski setup cost me $30, when all I could afford to eat was Ramen and boiled potatoes. Why go cheap? Your pole tips will break off after contacting asphalt enough times, and you will scratch your ski bottoms when you carelessly pretend you can make it through a graveled intersection without taking them off.

• Be smart and be courteous. If a plow is anywhere nearby, bail! Yield to any and all other forms of traffic. Skiing in the dark? Wear lights or reflectors. The legality of being a street skier isn’t quite at the level of graffiti artist, but you’re the one putting yourself at risk. Don’t be the answer to a questionable activity. Townies skiing snowy city roads should wear dark clothes so they pop out against the bright background of the snow.

• Want your canine buddy to enjoy the glide with you? Wear a small hiking backpack and clip a long-lead to the bag (around 12 feet long). If they spot a squirrel and forget what they’re doing, they’re less likely to pull you off balance when the energy is transferred first to the bag instead of your waist. Don’t worry, though, once you’ve flailed-and-failed a few times, any intelligent pup will decide that the last thing they want is for you to take a tumble. No species enjoys an accidental ski pole to the head.