From New Orleans to Fargo: Time for a Night Ski

I was in New Orleans for the last few days for a work meeting. Although I did one elliptical workout in my hotel and went walking around the French Quarter at night on a writing marathon with Richard Louth and my C3WP colleagues, I didn't get much exercise, and I ate a lot of fattening food (Beignet, done that). So, by the time I got back to Fargo, I was feeling kind of blah from all the air travel and overeating. Then we heard the university would be closed tomorrow due to cold temperatures and high winds. When Enrico came back from walking the dog, he said, "Actually, it's not windy out right now, and it's plus 7, not bad." We looked at each other. "Night ski!" I love skiing as an antidote to jet lag--it makes me feel as if I have really landed.

We got dressed quickly and were out the door by just after 8pm. There was a bit of "Farglo" reflected off some low clouds, but we could also see a few stars twinkling above us. As our eyes adjusted to the dark, we found our way to the ski trail, or we should say, where the ski trail was. With the new snow, there really wasn't a trail, which was a bit challenging, but the soft snow felt so good under my feet. The longer we kicked and glided, the more peaceful we felt. And we were warm. Everyone has been so stressed out about the coming cold weather, that I put on an extra layer, so I was extra toasty.

We skied into Lindenwood Park a ways and then headed back before the I-94 bridge because I was getting a bit tired (I had been up since 4am). On the way back, we heard this weird, periodic screeching sound. I thought it might be a hawk at first, but then it sounded like a rooster, then a turkey, then a small dog being hurt, then a just weird sound. We couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe a rugaroo came back from New Orleans with me and was distraught by the cold weather...