Mount van Hoevenberg: The Prodigal Skier Returns

Monday afternoon. On the Northway, the sun in our eyes as the shooting brake ate miles, heading back to the flatlands. My arthritic feet let me know they were unhappy with the day’s three-hour ski. I said to Lars, “I used to think that if my fairy godmother offered me a choice of a 25-year-old cardiovascular system or 25-year-old feet, no contest. It’d be the motor. Anymore, I think I’d rather have 25-year-old feet.” Too many birthdays, and the wear » Read Mor