By Sophia Sagur
Excitement and anticipation rushed through my
veins as I waited outside my door on Friday morning
waiting for my "anonymous" ride to Silver Star.
While my neighbours were rushing to their cars to
drive to work, I stood proudly with my ski bag and
knapsack in hand and answered "Skiing at Silver
Star!" when asked where I was headed.
Tony had arranged for me to ride with Patrick
Potvin who I had never met, and who was to pick me
up at 8 a.m. Expecting a 4WD vehicle to pull up
with a ski rack on the roof, I was caught by surprise
(and some fear) when a small two-door sports car
pulled up and Patrick emerged, introducing himself.
Well, there's no turning back now, I thought to
myself, as I tried to put all the horror winter storm
stories I had heard about the Coquihalla highway
out of my mind. You see, having lived in Vancouver
for a year, I had only experienced the Coquihalla in
the summer, and had no idea what was in store for me.
So Patrick and I set off for our drive to Vernon,
and I discovered he was truly representative of the
members of the Nordic Racers: friendly, welcoming,
extremely athletic, funny, and older than me.
We made good time, encountered no obstacles (except
for frequent washroom stops due to my 20-minute
bladder), and finally arrived in Vernon where we
loaded up on our weekend staple, bagels.
![[On the Trails at Silver Star]](news-200012-1.jpeg)
Photo courtesy of Dave McKee
Silver Star was even more beautiful than I had
anticipated. What a cute little ski community!
Patrick and I felt like Hansel and Gretel! We found
our new home and were greeted by some Nordic Racer
"après-skiers" sitting by the fire enjoying
complimentary massages. I must note at this point
that the accommodations were superb! There is nothing
like coming home after a ski to a warm fireplace,
an outdoor hot tub, a glass of wine or hot tea,
and clean dry clothes.
That night I had my first waxing lesson, courtesy
of Dave McKee. I actually have to buy an iron to do
all this? After the lesson of putting the wax on,
only to melt it down and then scrape it off (wax
on, wax off?), I was glad I had bought myself some
waxless classic skis!
At this point I was ready to head out and apply
what I had learned at Seymour on rollerblades to
the snow. So I headed out with my coach, Patrick,
to try skate skiing. The first half of our ski was
great (it was mostly downhill)! I was starting to
get the hang of it, despite not being able to see
where I was going (the trail lights either weren't on,
or we were on the wrong trail). But getting home was
a whole new ball game! The "offset" technique I had
mastered (or so I thought) on land did not transfer
so easily to the snow. So as Patrick gracefully and
effortlessly skied on ahead, I resorted to the good
old "herringbone" as I muddled my way up the hills.
Later that night I witnessed some of the best
skiing and athleticism which truly inspired me to
become a good skier. As I stood there shivering
in the cold (thank goodness for the world's biggest
bonfire!), I admired the ability and skill of many
Canadian and American racers. This spectacle also
spurred me to reflect on the funding of sport in
Canada, as the race announcer would periodically
ask the spectators for more donations which would be
awarded to the top Canadian female and male skiers.
Would the same have been true in Australia or the US?
Saturday morning I awoke keen and ready to go.
I fuelled up with a breakfast of bagels. Today I
was going to learn how to skate ski! As a member of
the beginner group, I skated my way back and forth,
back and forth, at the same place I had seen the
national-level skiers demonstrating what looked so
easy the night before! It became almost a rhythm
or a dance (dada-lalala, plink plink, plink plink).
Thanks to my personal trainers at Mount Seymour
where I learned the rhythm on rollerblades, I found
this time it came quite easily. When our coach felt
we were ready, our group graduated to the trails.
Now this was quite a spectacle. You see, until
now we had only learned what I think was called the
"two-skate" (or two-step, or something like that).
Bursting with confidence, we followed our leader out
onto the trails, through some trees, and down a hill.
I quietly thought to myself, "what goes down must
come up." Sure enough, we now had to figure out how
to get up the hill. That was when we learned
"the monkey." And I can assure you, we looked exactly
like monkeys -- or at least some rendition of clumsy
orangutans -- struggling up the hill.
![[Chris, Ty, and Rich]](news-200012-2.jpeg)
Chris, Ty, and Rich
Photo courtesy of Dave McKee
That afternoon, after bagels for lunch and a cozy
fire, we headed out again. I was now fortunate
to be considered for the "intermediate" group for
classic skiing. Once again I was grateful for my
waxless classic skis when we reached the hills and
my other group members started sliding backwards.
At this point I must point out how fortunate we
were to have such great coaches. Their expertise
and skill were a great inspiration and a super
way to start out the season -- for beginners and
advanced skiers. Thanks very much to all of you!
Saturday night (after a good soak in the outdoor
hot tubs, and a roll in the snow for some!) was the
potluck and we didn't have an overload of lasagna,
as I heard has happened in the past. The food
selection was superb (much better than my bagels),
and we feasted and drank to our hearts content.
Then onto "The Saloon." Although the music left a
little to be desired, even after multiple requests
for different satellite stations, a good time was
had by all.
Sunday morning we staggered out of bed for our
last lesson. Today I learned the offset technique,
and as I plodded up the hill and down the hill,
and up the hill, and down the hill, I wondered
how on earth anyone could do this for 30 K!!!
Would I ever be able to do a loppet?
Now, on the ride home I had a true Coquihalla
experience. After only driving for an hour,
Patrick and I (in the little two-door sports car)
hit a snow storm. We slowed down to 60 km/h,
to 50 km/h, and finally to 40 km/h.
I tried to relax and sing along to the radio,
but inside I kept thinking, "should we turn back?"
Patrick reassured me we would stop and put the chains
on the wheels when we saw a good spot to stop.
But before I knew it, we were spinning around and
everything was going in slow motion. Then we came to
a stop just short of the concrete median. My heart
was racing, but I tried to remain calm. After our
180° experience, we turned around and plugged
along at a snail's pace as SUVs sped past us and our
visibility was blocked by spray from transport trucks.
We witnessed tractor trailers turned sideways on the
road, cars in the ditch, and one trailer on its side.
When we took an exit to put the chains on the tires
(without much luck due to the deep snow), we ended up
getting on the highway going in the wrong direction
as the signs were all covered in snow, and visibility
was poor. After 30 minutes going east -- not west --
we found an exit, and got back on track. It was at
this exit that we saw two deer frolicking in the snow!
After 11 hours in the car, we finally made it
home and I have never been so grateful to see rain.
And how do you spend 11 hours in a car with someone
you've never met, you ask? Well, we spun a total of
270° (we had another spin further along); played
"my cows," the alphabet game, and 21 questions;
learned each other's biggest fears, dreams and
accomplishments; and learned not to panic, because
"If worse comes to worse, at least I have a cell
phone and CAA!" We also learned to appreciate the
finer things: beautiful snow, and life.
Sophia grew up in Bowmanville, Ontario,
and comes to cross-country skiing with an interest
in winter cross-training for triathlons. She is a
physiotherapist in private practice in Vancouver.