Since 2013 was the 40th anniversary of the American Birkenbeiner race, the organizers decided to add a new event to commemorate this milestone: the first ever Nikkerbeiner, a 5K race in which participants had to use wood skis and 1970s era gear and clothing.
I decided that I just had to enter this event because 1973 also happened to be the year that I first skied, so this year is also my 40th anniversary of skiing. I still have my mom's leather boots and my parents' bamboo poles. As I mentioned in a previous post, I made a coat rack out of their wood skis, so I couldn't use their skis. Heidi Goldberg, one of the members of the Prairie's Edge Nordic Ski Club came to my rescue and loaned me her Norwegian wood skis.
I tried to find some knickers on Craigslist and ebay, but no luck. I would have to be authentic, and just wear my regular pants, which is what we did in the 70s. Of course, we also had these nylon gaiters that my mom sewed for the whole family. Instead, I borrowed my older son's compression socks and pulled them over my pants, giving what I hoped would be the impression of knickers. I decided to wear one of my husband's wool sweaters from the 1970s. For my gloves, I used some beautiful wool gloves embroidered with a Scandinavian design that my sister had bought for me in a Nordic shop in Pennsylvania. I wore the matching headband too. Here I am in my complete retro outfit:
I wanted Max to be able to do this event with me and my friend, Barb, but it was a bit more challenging. I did have the extra set of bamboo poles, and I asked for help through the ski club facebook page and looked around the thrift shops. No luck. Then, on the day we were set to leave, I made one more stop at the ARC thrift shop as we were leaving town and found some wood skis. Not only that, but they had cable bindings on them, which eliminated the need to find matching boots, which would have been impossible. With these, he could just wear his regular boots. Not only that, they were only $6.99! And, to sweeten the deal further, they were made in Finland AND called "Sisu skis." Sisu is a very special word in my family. It is a Finnish word that is difficult to translate but means something like inner strength, fortitude, or even stubbornness.
I had packed two of Enrico's 1970s ski sweaters, so Max could wear one of those. Here he is in his gear:
OK, so we had pulled it together, or so I thought. Just in case, I decided to carry a backpack with extra kick wax, a cork, duct tape and bungies in case the cables didn't work, as well as some water and a snack in case Max needed it. The race was set to start at 5pm, and I wasn't sure how hungry he would be--he was in a growth spurt at this time, and it wasn't unusual for him to say he was hungry 30 minutes after we finished a meal.
We got to the start just in time. With both Barb and I yanking on the cable bindings, we were able to get him in them just in time for the start gun. We started up Main Street in Hayward with just over a hundred other skiers on wood skis. It was so fun to see the variety of equipment and clothing--many memories were triggered by familiar gear I hadn't seen in decades, plus there were new things to see like ornately carved tips on historic wooden skis.
All was going OK, as we headed out of town and the trail curved to the left toward the school and the golf course beyond. I made a move to pass some skiers, but when I looked back, Max was no longer behind me, so I pulled over. Everyone passed, but no Max. Where could he be? He was just behind me, not 100 yards back. There were no more skiers. Was he ahead of me? I called his name. The only part of the trail I couldn't see was obscured by a car in the school parking lot, so I skied back, and sure enough, there he was. His ski had come off.
I went to help him, and he complained that the binding was so tight that his snowboots were buckling and made an uncomfortable ridge under his foot. I decided I would have to readjust the setting on the binding, which took a bit of fiddling around. How was his wax? Terrible, he said, so I also waxed his skis with some extra blue wax. Mine were a bit slippery too, so I decided to quickly crayon on a layer on mine too. Did he need a drink of water, as long as we were stopped? No. Snack? No. So we started out again. We were far, far behind the crowd by then.
Oh, well, I thought and smiled to myself. My first wood skis had cable bindings too, and I remember what a pain they were. They came off at the most inopportune times. It was really great when I got upgraded to the slick 3-pin bindings! Stopping to wax during a race reminded me of my first race, which I did by myself when I was 15--the Fairbanks Skiathon, a 20K race on the university and community ski trails. It was a very warm day, and my wax failed about half-way through, so I stopped to wax, and so did other skiers, who gave me some advice and shared a warmer wax than what I had carried along in my fanny pack.
Because of our technical difficulties, Max and I had not started the golf course loop when some of the speedy skiers were on the return to town. That was actually really neat for us because we got to see them close up. It was fun to see the parade of 1970s gear and clothing. Since we were behind anyway, I stopped and snapped a couple of photos.
Max and I enjoyed our tour of the golf course. We talked companionably and enjoyed the slow, sweet glide of the wooden skis. I was so happy to share this moment with him while reminiscing about all the skiing I did with my parents when I was a kid. Near the end of the golf course, we saw volunteers putting out the lights for the luminary ski later that evening. We saw the moon rise, and it was almost full. Near the finish we caught up to one older gentleman and the three of us were the last skiers to finish. We glided down to the end of Main to meet up with Barb and the other skiers. While we waited to see if our numbers would be called for the prize raffle at the end, we took photos and admired the array of equipment and costumes. Here are a few snapshots:
Just as we were leaving, we got to see the opening ceremony, with members of the Ojibwe tribe veterans leading the way with the Eagle Staff and American Flag, followed by the ceremonial Inga and two Birchleggers who saved Prince Haakon, and then signs carried by skiers from all over the world and most of the states. The 2013 American Birkebeiner has begun!
I decided that I just had to enter this event because 1973 also happened to be the year that I first skied, so this year is also my 40th anniversary of skiing. I still have my mom's leather boots and my parents' bamboo poles. As I mentioned in a previous post, I made a coat rack out of their wood skis, so I couldn't use their skis. Heidi Goldberg, one of the members of the Prairie's Edge Nordic Ski Club came to my rescue and loaned me her Norwegian wood skis.
I tried to find some knickers on Craigslist and ebay, but no luck. I would have to be authentic, and just wear my regular pants, which is what we did in the 70s. Of course, we also had these nylon gaiters that my mom sewed for the whole family. Instead, I borrowed my older son's compression socks and pulled them over my pants, giving what I hoped would be the impression of knickers. I decided to wear one of my husband's wool sweaters from the 1970s. For my gloves, I used some beautiful wool gloves embroidered with a Scandinavian design that my sister had bought for me in a Nordic shop in Pennsylvania. I wore the matching headband too. Here I am in my complete retro outfit:
I had packed two of Enrico's 1970s ski sweaters, so Max could wear one of those. Here he is in his gear:
OK, so we had pulled it together, or so I thought. Just in case, I decided to carry a backpack with extra kick wax, a cork, duct tape and bungies in case the cables didn't work, as well as some water and a snack in case Max needed it. The race was set to start at 5pm, and I wasn't sure how hungry he would be--he was in a growth spurt at this time, and it wasn't unusual for him to say he was hungry 30 minutes after we finished a meal.
We got to the start just in time. With both Barb and I yanking on the cable bindings, we were able to get him in them just in time for the start gun. We started up Main Street in Hayward with just over a hundred other skiers on wood skis. It was so fun to see the variety of equipment and clothing--many memories were triggered by familiar gear I hadn't seen in decades, plus there were new things to see like ornately carved tips on historic wooden skis.
All was going OK, as we headed out of town and the trail curved to the left toward the school and the golf course beyond. I made a move to pass some skiers, but when I looked back, Max was no longer behind me, so I pulled over. Everyone passed, but no Max. Where could he be? He was just behind me, not 100 yards back. There were no more skiers. Was he ahead of me? I called his name. The only part of the trail I couldn't see was obscured by a car in the school parking lot, so I skied back, and sure enough, there he was. His ski had come off.
I went to help him, and he complained that the binding was so tight that his snowboots were buckling and made an uncomfortable ridge under his foot. I decided I would have to readjust the setting on the binding, which took a bit of fiddling around. How was his wax? Terrible, he said, so I also waxed his skis with some extra blue wax. Mine were a bit slippery too, so I decided to quickly crayon on a layer on mine too. Did he need a drink of water, as long as we were stopped? No. Snack? No. So we started out again. We were far, far behind the crowd by then.
Oh, well, I thought and smiled to myself. My first wood skis had cable bindings too, and I remember what a pain they were. They came off at the most inopportune times. It was really great when I got upgraded to the slick 3-pin bindings! Stopping to wax during a race reminded me of my first race, which I did by myself when I was 15--the Fairbanks Skiathon, a 20K race on the university and community ski trails. It was a very warm day, and my wax failed about half-way through, so I stopped to wax, and so did other skiers, who gave me some advice and shared a warmer wax than what I had carried along in my fanny pack.
Because of our technical difficulties, Max and I had not started the golf course loop when some of the speedy skiers were on the return to town. That was actually really neat for us because we got to see them close up. It was fun to see the parade of 1970s gear and clothing. Since we were behind anyway, I stopped and snapped a couple of photos.
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| The Opening Ceremony |
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