Slip Sliding Away

Well, it's the middle of December and I've got the next three weeks off. You gotta love lots of vacation time. Twenty-three years at the same company does have some benefits.

I asked around on Saturday's club run for running partners while I was off and got a couple of leads. I made a few calls and managed to get myself and Jackie Terry invited to join a couple of the older gentlemen on Tuesday morning from Jim Cran's home.

The temperature was –15 to –20 Celsius with no wind, but we did have five to eight centimetres of snow over night. The conditions slow down the traffic heading to work on highway #5. That's my excuse for arriving a little late for the 8:00 A.M. start time, and I'm sticking to it.

Jackie arrives at the same time I do and with the same excuse. I bang on the front door and when we get no answer, we start looking for footprints in the snow. I do my best Indian Scout imitation and we find some heading up the hill. We cross the highway to the concession road, hoping to catch the three guys and lady that we thought might be ahead of us.

Soon thereafter, we run into Charles Fraser, who is limping back the way we had just come. He has bailed early due to a pulled hamstring that just won't heal. All I can say is "ouch!" We wave at him, tell him to take it easy and that we would see him at coffee on Wednesday morning.

Jackie and I plod on through the snow and alternate between the soft snow in the verge and the cleared tracks made by cars. The snow is still falling and the sound of the vehicles coming up behind us is muffled, so we take turns checking behind us. Most drivers are careful and considerate, but there is always one goof that tries to see how close he can get to hitting us with their side mirrors.

As we continue on, we keep commenting on which body parts are warming up, first the legs, then the feet, toes and then finally the fingers. We wave at the drivers and the lone garbage truck on its rounds as we pass.

It's cold and I can feel my breath, sweat freezing on my toque, beard and moustache. Much more frost and I'll be a mobile Frosty the snow runner. It's not as obvious on Jackie, but her glasses keep fogging up and she has a good frost rime happening on her headband.

We soon catch up to Jim running back towards us with a lady I don't know. Jackie and I have never met Jim officially, so it's a little awkward, but we do the introductions anyway. We say good-bye and part company with the woman who heads back to Jim's house with her dog. Jim turns around and leads the way down the country road.

Jim tells us about the regulars in the Tuesday group and where they all are. Most of them I know, so I can gently harass them when I see them next. Something about a little cold and snow being too much for them?

The scenery alternates between fields, woods and homes. I keep my eyes peeled for deer, birds and other wild life, as well as cars. I think we see a doe ahead but it turns out to be a mail box. Further on I see the footprints, but no sign of the deer that had left them.

We hit a salted section of road and gratefully pick up the pace. It's amazing what a little bit of traction can do for your speed. We power through to the turn around point and head back the way we came.

Same road back, different perspective. Funny, that mail box looks nothing like a deer from this side.

The work time traffic has tapered off, so there aren't as many cars on the road, forcing us off into the deeper snow. We continue the conversation and listen to Jim tell us some of the history of his one-hundred-fifty year old stone block home. I can hardly wait to see the inside of it.

I also find out that we are invited for breakfast. Apparently, it's part of the Tuesday morning group package. Now I'm starting to feel guilty about inviting myself. Jim insists and wouldn't hear about us not staying.

I hammer up the last few hills, slippery conditions and all. I wait for Jim and Jackie at the top of the last one, huffing and puffing, glorying in the animal effort of exertion. As Jackie summits this small hill, she calls me Harvey the Rabbit. It's a reference to the orange and white knit toque that I'm wearing that has Harvey's, all around it. But I'm wearing my bright yellow jacket as well, so I can't be Harvey. I'm certainly not invisible.

We all laugh and plunge on through the last bit of snow covered road to Jim's home.

Jackie and I scramble to our cars for our respective change of clothes, then into the warmth of the house.

There's hot showers, dry clothes and breakfast in the kitchen. Home made preserves to spread on toasted bagels, orange juice and coffee never tasted better. The conversation over the meal is even better.

Jim proudly shows off his home that he and his late wife put together. He comments on all the antiques and knickknacks that fill the rooms. Then he pulls out the hand written book documenting the history and lives of the people that have lived within those walls. Ya gotta love the before and after renovation pictures as well as the comments on the work in progress. The house is a testament to love and a life well shared.

Jim thanks us for visiting. We can't join him next week because we all are running in the Harold Webster Boxing Day 10 miler. However, we promise to join him again in two weeks time.

Hmmm… I'll have to find a bakery for something fattening to share after that run. Fresh Italian Canolies. Yeah, that's just the thing to go with hot coffee, conversation and good friends.

By Mark G. Collis

Revised: December 24, 2003.