Okay, so you’re snowed in. You have so much snow in your driveway you’re thinking of putting it in the trunk, maybe stopping at your ma’s for some meatballs and gravy then dumping the snow somewhere upstate where it won’t be missed. You’re grumbling, you’re growling, feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t lie, I see your twitters.
I say it’s time to take advantage of all the wonders winter has to offer, just like we do here in Minnesota. Hell, it’s not officially winter here until the first truck crashes through the ice. Now before you say “I thought all you had were incredibly hot world-class lady skiers,” you should know that this not exactly true, we can’t all be Lindsey Vonn. Most of us can barely be George Wendt. But we do tend to make the best of it, in fact we have so many wild and wonderful winter sports to choose from, there’s barely time for drinking! So put your boots on and follow me!
Pronounced “skee-YOR-ing,” or by a select few “She-Whoring.” You should know we do this all the time in Minnesota, in fact on weekends the city streets are packed with horses wildly cantering while avid skijorers fly off the roofs of parked cars and bus stops. It’s a sport for anyone with a pair of skis and a horse, or a couple of dogs, or maybe in a pinch several cats. You might be able to pull this off with a well-organized train of highly motivated guinea pigs, and if you are please let us know and we’ll post your picture.
Pronounced just as it sounds, this ultra-current sport replaces draft animals with a very large kite, the kind you might use to pop over waves in Australia, or perhaps drown under in Cancun. It’s not an easy sport, requiring a lot of skill and strangth, so think twice before casually “dabbling” in this or any sport that can cause your arms to rip out of their sockets.
If you enjoy looking like an ass, just put on all the clothes you own, wedge some very expensive studded knobby tires on your bicycle and get out there in traffic. Here in Minnesota we all know folks who resolutely endanger themselves and others on our increasingly slippery and narrow snow-bound streets, adamantly refusing to drive or even take the bus in any weather, opting to pretend they’re having fun as gallons of salty slush assault their backsides and their faces, all the while chanting their desperate mantra “this is good for the environment.” But they are not having fun, they are some of the planet’s most wretched creatures. For me the comforting thought is that these are the same people who in the summer wear bright, heavily branded tights so thin and taut, every wrinkly detail of their genitalia is not only on display, but enhanced.
A close cousin of tubing, traying has been practiced on college campuses in northern climes for decades. The equipment is simple: a snowy hill and a cafeteria tray, and since the trayer is already essentially sliding downhill ass-first, there’s little risk of injury. And there’s that special pride in knowing that the next day, the tray which now holds your classmate’s pancakes just hours before held your own butt cheeks.
If you’re stupid, you’re probably familiar with the nefarious act of skitching, which involves grabbing on to the back of a car on a snowy, icy street and skidding along on your feet as the car careens on, barely in control and without knowing that you’re back there. We cannot endorse this, primarily because it’s exceedingly dangerous, but also because it’s the kind of winter thing fans of Steve-O might engage in. It’s a good bet that anyone who routinely skitches also owns a Jagermeister six-bottle shot cooler and is fond of saying “whoo” as loudly as he can, indoors. So if you must skitch, we suggest you grab the back fender of the nearest winter cyclist and go for a ride. Remember to yell “whoo.”
Speaking of drinking, there’s perhaps no sport that for most people defines the Upper Midwest better than ice fishing. We need to broaden the definition of the
word “sport” to include “sitting on your ass all day and leafing through the SI Swimsuit Edition,” but in fact it’s one of the few winter activities that can provide food.
SHOOTING AT THINGS
I’ve never quite understood the Winter Biathlon Olympic event, which combines cross-country skiing and shooting, and appears to wring the fun out of both. Minnesotans prefer to venture out into the deep woods in a Carhartt coverall and blast God’s creatures to pieces. There’s a season for every conceivable wild animal here short of rats, so grab your shotgun and leave your girly little skis at home.
There. Now take ‘n’ get out there while the gettin’s good, you D.C. dwellers, you shivering Mid-Atlanticans. It won’t be long until the summer humidity causes your shirt to adhere to your back, and you’ll be looking back to this time saying “why didn’t I go skijoring when I had the chance?”