Friday, January 29, 2010

Oh, whoa! A Sims Blade...!



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This is one of the gems you'll find when you Google "Sims Blade"; this pristine photo of a 1987/88 Blade (with the original, correct Sims bindings!) at flikr.com. This, kids, was the beginning of it all. Never, ever forget where you came from...





Sunday, January 24, 2010

The Collection: 5150 Stroke & Sims 1710 Blade

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Looking up Center Stage at 10:30 am, you can see the much shorter lift lines than the ones I experienced last weekend. What you can't see, are the 50-plus temps that made this one of the softest, and best snow-days I've had here this year...

I went back down to Perfect North today, on my weekly wintertime commute to snowboarding bliss. Warm weather, overcast skies, short lift lines, soft-as-shit snow that felt like sno-cone ice, a little water content, and some fresh wax on my boards all combined to make this an epic, 6-hour-long marathon-session. I must've gotten between 30-40 runs in, as my longest wait-time at the lift was only about 20 seconds or so. A far cry from last weekend...! And, super fun. Seriously: Having this much of this sort of fun feels like it should be illegal.

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Today, I took as my daily-rider: My 2008 5150 Stroke 161. This is a fully bitchin' board, completely stupendous in oh-so-many ways... there just aren't enough superlatives to describe how awesome this thing is. The funny part is, I only paid $99 for it! Brand new, no less. It was a crazy one-day sale on all 5150's, and I found that price just too damn hard to pass up. I also got my Stroke 164, and my ex's Empress on the same day... like stealing candy from a baby, that was. Best snowboarding deal ever...

These days, 5150's are horrendously underrated. You can consistently find these for well under $200. That sort of pricepoint really should be criminal, for what you get out of 'em. It has a Quadratic Sidecut, which makes turning extremely precise and quick... almost to the point of feeling like your board is a direct and immediate extension of your brain. It's also got the mandatory full-length wood core, ABS sidewalls, and 4x4 hole pattern. My tech told me that it's not compatible with Burton bindings, but I set it up with '09 Burton Freestyles anyway, and it's worked just fine ever since. So much for technical bulletins, huh...?

It's not too stiff, not too flexible, and it's actually quite light. Light enough, at least, to not be yanking too hard on my feet riding up the lift all day long, day in and day out, with snow caked all over it! It's a boatload of fun, and I sold a couple dozen of these last year to my snowboard-shop customers.

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"Whoa! What the hell is that...?!?!" That's what I get a lot of, when I take this beauty out for the day...

Just like last week, I brought down one of The Collection to take a few runs on. This one is a personal pride and joy of mine: A 1987 Sims 1710 Blade! This, is a real trip. Although I like to tell everyone at Perfect North that it's my first-ever snowboard... as if I actually started snowboarding in '87... the truth is, I bought this in 1997 or so, at a yard sale in Concord, NH. The asking price?! A mere 25 bucks!! You just can't beat a score like that, nosirree...!!

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This board is fun, but quirky as all hell. For one thing, the base is convex- not flat. That means that edge-to-edge response either takes forever and a day, or a lot of sliding around hopelessly on the mountain before initiating a damned turn. It's a manly board, and it made real men out of an entire first-generation of snowboarders. Thank Gawd that I wasn't one of them...!

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The bindings are '89 Sims. That's easy enough to discern, because of the gaudy neon pink clasps on the ratchets. Everything snowboarding in '89 was neon as hell... once again, I'm glad I wasn't part of that generation, either. The shape is straight, and straightforward: Huge, pointy nose, with minimal sidecut, ending in a short, flat (no discernable tailkick, although it does exist... barely...), angular, square tail. There's exactly one stance option available, and it's about 35 degrees front, -10 back, and set back about ten whole inches from centered...

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The sidewalls are a real trip, too. Because, there aren't any! Nope: The "sandwich" construction consists of a base (with steel edges, surprisingly enough... top-of-the-line, brand-new technology in '87...), a topsheet (a two-color screenprint...), and a wood core in the middle. And, that's it! On this particular board, I painfully hand-grind the base (because it can't be put through an automatic grinder, due to the convex base) and water seal the sidewalls, every year. It's really the least I can do. It is, after all, a wonderfully preserved artifact from snowboarding's genesis years. The least I could do is take care of it, and treat it reasonably well.

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Riding it is a manly challenge, as I explained above. It is far from responsive, requiring a lot of lead time between thinking of a turn, and actually forcing your way through making one. It's heavy, it's wide, and the nose and tail practically have their own damned zip codes, it's so fucking long... but, that's part of the challenge of it... and the challenge certainly doesn't lack it's fair share of good times. I've spent many a good day out on this board. And the whoops, hollers, and shakas that I get from the old-timers that recognize what it is aren't half bad, either.

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Have You Seen Me...?!

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Check this out! I got this in my e-mail from the Old Indy Skaters guys. Now, it's not like it's really that hard to find me these days. In fact, I'm usually doing one of the following five things:

1. Working
2. Eating
3. Sleeping
4. Watching Pandi smash Lil' Homie. Or,
5. Snowboarding at Perfect North.

Numbers One through Three are obviously, daily. Number Four is top secret, because I'm not tellin' ya anything. And, Number 5 happens every weekend. And sometimes, when I'm really extra super lucky, on a midweek evening here and there.

If in doubt,
y'know, you guys could always call...

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The Collection: Burton King 162 and 5150 Ranquet

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Perfect North Slopes in Lawrenceburg, Indiana is where I'm spending the bulk of my free time these days. At least once a week, I make the lonely, one-hour drive (Or hour-and-a-half, depending if I'm leaving from my place, or Pandi's...) down to my wintertime camp-out spot. Here's a fairly typical day out:


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Driving down I-74, on the way to Lawrenceburg. This day was extremely foggy, due to a warm front coming in after a pretty cold week. This is a fog-socked exit, near Greensburg- about halfway to my destination.



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Here's the main run at Perfect North from the peak to the base: Center Stage. The fog is so thick, you can't even see the top of the lift. And, the vertical at Perfect is only 400'. So, that shit is thick, buddy...


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On this day, we had some really warm temperatures, which made for extremely soft snow. And, being a holiday weekend, it was also really, really crowded... even more so than your typical day at Perfect North, which is usually pretty damned crowded, anyway. I appeased myself and my crowd-hating ways by spending some time on one of my favorite snowboards from my collection, my Burton King 162.

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I bought this board last season, as a close-out special at my work (It's an '08 model). I originally bought this to use as my jib-board, as they had sold a King 158 (my intended jib-board) out from under my ass. A few weeks later, the 158 came back on a return... just my luck! So, I bought that as my jib-board... and this, I was left with as a sort of red-headed stepchild in my quiver. I did take it out once... and immediately hated it. Figuring it was a total waste of a few benjamins, I ended up writing it off, and hanging it on my wall as super-fancy wallpaper...


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Here she is, from the top...

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And, from the bottoms up!



This year, after spending a full seven months in the gym (which helped a lot more than I would have ever imagined), I took this out on my second day of the season... only to find that this "stupid waste of money" fucking shredded all of a sudden...! Nimble, fast, and wonderfully responsive, it quickly became the Ginsu board of my quiver. I was so confident on it, in fact, that I actually left my brand-new Ride Fleetwood 165 at home, and brought this to Mt. Bohemia, instead. Which says a
ton about the faith that I have in this board...


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Each year, I've make a point to take out every single snowboard that I own, at least once. And since I still have every single snowboard that I've ever owned, that's usually a pretty damn good trip down memory lane. Note that I said "usually", as opposed to "always". Thing is, sometimes trips down memory lane aren't as fun as you originally imagined they'd be...

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Take in point this board right here: My first-ever snowboard! A 5150 Mike Ranquet Signature Series 158. Back in the day, Ranquet was the shit. And, the fact that this board featured artwork by the one and only Mark Gonzales gave this board extra-obvious-appeal to a skater like me. It's from approx. 1995, a time when I was doing double-duty sales at 50/50 Snow & Skate in Concord, NH. Obviously a snowboard and skateboard shop, I was prodded and poked into snowboarding by my boss, Andy Sanborn, who pretty much required that everyone on his staff snowboard, so as to make selling the product a bit easier. Of course, I protested: There was no way in hell that anyone in the world was gonna make a skateboarding hard-ass [read: purist] like me ride one of those fucking poof-sleds. In hindsight, I'm glad that Andy somehow found a way to kick my ass into it. How he converted me, I can't remember. All I know is, I would've missed out on soooo much, had I stubbornly stood my stupid-ass ground...

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The base. Note the boss-ass-hell, aluminum tip and tail protectors, inlaid into the base. Neat-o 1995 technology...!


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Look at that! That right there, is bona-fide Mark Gonzales artwork, folks! All you jealous people...!!!

This board is a directional-shaped cap construction. Back in the day, caps were neat and novel new things. I suspect that they were also quite a bit less expensive to produce. The woodcore on this board goes almost from tip to tail... but, not quite. Plastic inserts fill in the raised tips, which made a real convenient breakage point for a lot of boards of this generation. The cap was supposed to giver better edge hold and response, by directing the topskin forces directly to the edges. Given the rarity of caps these days, I'm thinking that it didn't work quite as planned...


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Note that the hole pattern is sort of a bastardized cross between a 2x4, and a Burton 3-D. Weirdness. What does that mean? Nothing really fits this board particularly well...

The board is set up with some pricepoint Nitro bindings. I usually ride it nearly centered, which goes to show how little I knew back then; most directionals are stanced back an inch or two, to take full advantage of the [obviously] directional shape. Hey man, I was a skater! This "snow" shit was all new to me back then...

Today, of course, this board is a smidge too short for me, and my advanced weight as I head into my middle years. It's also entirely, waaaayyy too skinny! Wide boards were still a couple years down the road at this time, of course, what with the first Burton Floaters and all. [Note: Although the K2 FatBob may have been around at this time, no skater worth his shit was gonna die having ever supported a fucking ski company, of all goddamned things...!]

It's also woefully flexible. Riding it down a mountain is much like propelling yourself downward on a giant, wet slab of lasagna. It's fun to reminisce about, and frickin' awesome as hell to look at on the wall. But, to actually set it up, and ride it...? Ummmm... well... not so fun. Great for about three runs. Then, it's right back to modern technology for me...

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Sunday, January 3, 2010

Roughing It At Mt. Bohemia: December 2009

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The mountain, and the myth: Mt. Bohemia. It looks a lot smaller (and, easier) than it really is...


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First of all: I'm totally sorry that I haven't posted in quite some time. So, what's my excuse this time? I was planning and preparing for my week-and-a-half trip to Mt. Bohemia, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. It's fast becoming a yearly pilgrimage for me to go up there, because if you want to do some serious backcountry snowboarding without the drag of a million fucking lodge-dwellers and Barbie-clone ski bunnies, then Mount Bohemia is the place for you. It's definitely the place for me...


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This map shows the Keweenaw Peninsula, relative to the state of Wisconsin. The Keweenaw is in the red square at the top of the map.

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This is a detail view of the Keweenaw Peninsula. Mt. Bohemia is almost at the end of the point, while The Porkies are at the far left of the map, on Lake Superior. It's about a two hour drive between them, but that drive is absolutely gorgeous.


Located at the end of the Keeweenaw Peninsula, Mount Bohemia seems like it's located at the very end of the earth. There's no fancy resort at the base, no jacuzzi, no whirlpool, no five-star dining, and no bullshit. If you go up there at all, you're probably going up there strictly to snowboard (and/or, ski), and maybe do some sightseeing. It's very no-frills, so you're basically "roughing it" up there. I brought not only my snowboard gear (board, boots, clothes, hats, etc), but I also brought:

- A full survival pack, loaded with waterproof matches, fire starters, a compass, maps, flashlights, knives and sharpeners, etc;
- Dried paper and kindling;
- Three weeks' worth of canned and frozen food, cokes (can't leave home without those!), and water;
- Multivitamins, and Aleve;
- Cooking and eating utensils;
- A sleeping bag, and a pillow;
- My camera, a tape recorder, etc;
- And, my personal hygiene stuff (soaps, toothpaste, deodorant, all the way up to hand and bath towels).

That's a big list. The Econobubble was pretty tightly packed, and there was probably a solid month of preparations that ultimately went into the week-and-a-half-long trip.

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The drive up was a real adventure. It's normally a 12-hour trek... but this time, I ran headlong into a massive storm system that brought a ton of rain, ice, and snow. The rain lasted from Indianapolis, to the Wisconsin state line or so. That was the easy part. After that, the temperature dropped quite suddenly. That's bad: It was an ice-skating rink all the way to Union Grove, where it abruptly turned again to thick, heavy snow (with ice underneath). There were accidents everywhere; I saw a car doing 360's down I-94 in downtown Milwaukee. I stopped a few times to catnap, and it was really slow going the rest of the way. I left Indy at 6 pm, and arrived at Bohemia at 2 o'clock the following afternoon. The grand total?! Twenty hours! Yeesh...

It was still, way worth it.


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The covered wagon hubcap-deep in a sudden blizzard; I-94 north, Union Grove, Wisconsin.


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Niagara, Wisconsin. Just before crossing into Michigan. Here, the snow began to taper off a bit. Thank Gawd.


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Photographic evidence of the 1/4" of ice that the covered wagon collected coming up I-94. Niagara, Wisconsin; not far from Iron Mountain.


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The drive to L'Anse, Michigan, from Iron Mountain, Wisconsin, looks just like this the whole way. Nothing but desolate forests for miles and miles. (You can still readily see the ice on the windshield-wiper arms that I collected through Wisconsin. Harsh!)


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First sight of Lake Superior; L'Anse, Michigan.


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The snow the covered wagon collected. L'Anse, Michigan. You can clearly see all those supplies piled high in the back.


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The trail map. Little did I know how inaccurate this really is.



The biggest things that continually impress me about Bohemia are the regular snowfalls, the wide variety of terrain, and the stark and rugged beauty of it all. I've been up there three times now: The first, during The Holiday Season of '08; the second, a couple of weeks between jobs in March of '09; and then, this trip. Every time I go, the mountain gets a solid couple of feet of fresh snowfall. It's never groomed, because there's no way in hell to even get a snowcat to 99% of the mountain. So, every day is essentially, a fresh powder day. It spoils you. And it feels really, really good.

Then, we have the "trail map" above. I used the quotes, because only a very small percentage of Mt. Bohemia's marked trails, are actually listed on that map. And then, there are several runs on the mountain that don't even have names at all. That map is, at best, a loose guideline. But, nowhere near an all-inclusive or definitive listing of every trail available. There's a lot of "going out and finding it for yourself" potential, and it makes for a real adventure.

And then, there's the overall scenic-factor of the whole experience. Mt. Bohemia is a very photogenic place. Some of the runs seem much more like a surreal, heavenly experience, than a typical snowboard run down a mountain. I imagine that when I die, I'll be very happy to go to a place that's half as beautiful as some of Bohemia's backcountry glades. If you get up there, check out the chutes through Goldilocks and upper Polar Bear, and you'll see what I'm talking about.



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Mt. Bohemia panoramic, from the lower parking lot. Heaven Awaits.

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Another panoramic, from the upper parking lot, overlooking the cabins (left), the yurts (center), and Lac La Belle (just to the right of the yurts).





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My accommodations: A panoramic of the Hostel I stayed in.


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My living quarters for the next week. Comfy!

Life at Mt. Bohemia, isn't "easy" in any sense of the word. I actually joined a gym in June, to prepare myself for the physical hardness of the experience. First, there's the struggle of actually snowboarding on the mountain. That one's obvious enough. What's not-so-obvious, is the 50-yard hike to the bathroom in the middle of the night, in windchills of 20 below. It really makes you think hard about how badly you really need to pee, and how long you just might be able to put it off for. Likewise, just making breakfast meant a hundred or so yards to the car; packing up my backpack with my food for the day; and then, another hundred yard hike uphill to the common room to actually make it, and eat it. And, I even had it fairlyeasy, being in the hostel. There were dudes there that we camping in these conditions! Camping!! Now, that shit's hardcore, folks. Bordering on insanity, really...

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Mt. Bohemia offers "winter camping" sites. I never would have guessed that anyone would be crazy enough to actually camp in 0 degree weather. Note the firewood, and the stovepipe (being held up by a branch).



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Note that this guy is even more hardcore: No stovepipe, no wood. This dude must be freezing; the hostel is plenty cold enough for me.




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The Yurts at sunrise.


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The Base Camp: The bathroom yurt, with the open face runs in the background.



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I first discovered Bohemia while I was searching for somewhere... anywhere... to ride a damned snowboard in the midwest. Having moved here from New Hampshire, I was sick of watching several thousand dollars' worth of snowboard gear just taking up space on my wall, and quietly rusting away in the process. I ended up at Skiernet (www.skiernet.com), which is where I got my first introduction to Mt. Bohemia. I actually thought the whole thing was some sort of a prank; I never would have imagined that this sort of place could ever exist in the midwest, of all places.




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These signs are everywhere at the base. Very, very pointed warnings not to go out there and kill yourself.



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The mountain, right at the base. To the very left is the bottom of Prospector. The rental yurts are next, followed by the bottom of Claim Jumper; the bottom of Powder Keg; and, lastly, the path to the lift, where that skier is heading.


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Mt. Bohemia, at the very peak, looking east toward The Bear Den. Copper Harbor would be right behind the two purple uprights, and that's Lake Superior out there on the horizon.


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The peak again, looking southwest. Lac La Belle is on the left; Lake Superior is still on the horizon; the south parking lot is just right of center; and, the runs are Claim Jumper (middle) and Prospector (to the right).




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Here's why we go to Bohemia: To race through the trees. Miners' Junction, on the way to Tommyknocker's Plunge.


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The bus that brings you back to the base camp, from the Extreme Backcountry runs.


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On Saturday the 26th, Mt. Bohemia got some uncharacteristic rain showers, which temporarily made snow conditions extremely icy and hard. We can probably thank mankind's wanton destruction of our environment for that one. Anyway, "Ice" is definitely not something that you want to tangle with on Bohemia; riding Bohemia is plenty hard enough in pristine powder conditions, thank you very much. So, facing a day of either wasting away in the lodge, waiting on snow... or, killing the day at The Porkies, two hours down the coast... Karl and I decided to check out The Porkies. Hey: Riding something beats riding nothing, any day. Besides: We had both purchased the Porkies Combo Season Pass (For the humongous sum of $25 bucks, no less!)... so, we didn't have to pay one single red dime to go check it out. Minus a few bucks in gas, and a gorgeous drive down the coast of Lake Superior.




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It rained on Saturday the 26th, so Karl and I took a day-trip to The Porkies to kill the day. Here's the lodge, from the inside. Quite an upscale move from the frills-free vibe at Mt. Bohemia.

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The lodge, from the outside. Very chic, very pretty.

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The cute lunch-ladies working the Porkies cafeteria. Bonus.

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The Porkies. A panoramic from the base, looking straight up the lift.


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Looking down the same run, from the peak. That's Lake Superior out on the horizon. Beautiful! And, that's my buddy Karl, suiting up on the far left. True: He may be a right-wing Republican skier. But, he's a good bloke nonetheless. We actually met at Bohemia in March. It was just by sheer coincidence that we happened to be up there at the same time, again.

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There was a model of The Porkies at the base lodge that showed the runs, relative to the lakefront. I took a pic of it for reference.

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Ski and snowboard rental at The Porkies. Everything here is well-kept, and visually stunning.






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Every time I go up to The Keweenaw, I try to take a day off, and go explore my surroundings. It's a little scary, as detailed maps aren't widely available, and driving hazards are quite numerous... but, once you get out there, it's not so bad. Slow and steady are the buzzwords when driving around The Keweenaw. Anything more, and you're putting yourself in imminent danger.


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This is Lac La Belle, seen from Mt. Bohemia's chair lift. The Lac La Belle lodge is right at the tip of the peninsula, in the middle of the lake; Bete Grise is just a few miles out, on the edge of Lake Superior (seen out on the horizon in this photo).

I started my day at the Lac La Belle Lodge, which is just about a half of a mile from the base of Bohemia. I had to get a few supplies (cigarettes, strawberry daiquiris, postcards, t-shirts, local trail maps... y'know, the necessities...), and while I was there, I got some basic directions and tips from the helpful lady behind the counter. Apparently, during the previous nights' storms, a couple of freighters had anchored in Bete Grise Bay, and spent the night. If I hurried, I might catch 'em before they steamed out. Bete Grise is only 5 miles or so from the lodge, so I made that my first priority. It paid off: I got to spend the rest of the morning watching them slowly sail off into the sunrise.


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The Lac La Belle lodge, where we get any supplies that we may have forgotten to pack. In the rear, is The Bear Belly Restaurant and Bar, with it's magnificent views of the lake.

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The lodge cabins that surround the Lac La Belle Lodge. That's Mt. Bohemia in the background, visible between the trees.

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Mail delivery, Lac La Belle style.








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I took a drive to the farthest point you could access by car, on the south side of the point. Bete Grise, Michigan. The end of the world.



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These are the two freighters that were tucked in the bay, riding out the previous nights' storms. I spent a couple hours, watching them steam on out. Peaceful solitude.

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Changing rooms at Bete Grise. Apparently, it's a summertime swimming hot-spot.


Bete Grise is on the south side of the Keweenaw Peninsula. On the opposite (north) side, is Copper Harbor. Copper is about 15 miles from Bohemia, and is not quite at the very end of the point... but, close. The very end of the point is only accessible by snowmobile, and/or four-wheel-drive vehicles... so, Copper is as close as you can get, via Econobubble. Like Bete Grise, the drive there, as well as the village itself, are immaculately beautiful, and as far from civilization as you can possibly get; Copper Harbor only has a year-round population of 89 permanent residents.


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My drive to Copper Harbor, Michigan, on the north side of the point.


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A panoramic shot of the village of Copper Harbor, Michigan.
The harbor is straight ahead, down the street in the middle of the photo.


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A panoramic of the harbor, itself.


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Scenes from around the harbor...


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The King Copper Motel, in Copper Harbor. Clearly, it was built sometime in the 1950's. It's architectural style just screams tailfins and chrome.


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The Tamarack Inn. I eat here at least once, every time I go up to Bohemia. It breaks the monotony of endless Chedderwurst and beans.



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Snowmobiles parked outside The Tamarack Inn. Snowmobile-tourism is a huge part of the local economy, here.



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Sunset over the south lot at Bohemia.



Mt. Bohemia is open between 10:00 am and 4:30 pm daily, 9:30 am to 4:30 pm on the weekends. That's only 6 1/2 to 7 1/2 hours of riding, every day. So: Where's the rest of the day go?! Mostly to The Common Room, Bohemia's "lodge" area. Outfitted with a fireplace, a small stove, a few extremely comfortable faux-leather couches, and a satellite-cable-equipped television, The Common Room is the place to go to have a couple of drinks, some dinner, and some late-night movies and comedy shows. New this year was wireless Wi-Fi, so the computer geeks had something to do, too.




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My daily hike from the hostel, to the "lodge". It's about 50 yards, straight up.


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The Lodge, aka, the "Common Room". Where the off-hours are spent keeping the fire going, getting in a shower, socializing, having a bite to eat, and boozing it up, while watching dish television.

Besides hanging out in the common room, there's not much else to do at Bohemia, unless you want to drive to Copper Harbor, or over to The Bear Belly. Thus, "troublemaking" becomes sort of a legitimate pastime in it's own right. This can include stuff like:

- Setting up snow ramps and jumps by carlight, and launching yourself into the dark abyss (which I saw, but didn't do myself);
- Smoking tons of pot, and drinking gallons of Jagermeister (which I saw, but didn't do myself);
- Getting hammered, and driving your minivan around the base of the mountain, until you get stuck, and maintenance has to come and pull your stupid ass out with a snowcat (which I saw, laughed at, and fully documented... but, thankfully, that one wasn't me, either);
- And, lastly, hiking the Ghost Trail and/or Prospector, and getting a few runs in by bright, cloudless moonlight (which I'll plead the fifth on, because I'm still not sure how legal/illegal that really is).




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Mt. Bohemia's yurts, by moonlight. When it's bright like this, you can easily go hike the runs all night long.








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I came out one night from the lodge one evening, to find the whole mountain lit up. Huh?! I mean, I knew they had lights and all. I've just never seen them actually on before...

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It made one hell of a great photo op, though. That's me, man: Mr. Opportunity At Work.

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And, here's the reason why. Some jackass tried to drive his minivan to the lift (?!), and ski patrol and maintenance had to rescue his ass. Funny!
Note to all jackasses: Bohemia's lifts do not run at night. Just for future reference, y'know...

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The catwalks between the yurts. This was my path to the bathroom each and every morning.




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One of the raddest things about Mt. Bohemia is that, due to the fairly "extreme" nature of the mountain, and the conditions that you're likely to find on it... you'll oftentimes see some very rare, unusual, limited-production sorts of "extreme" snow-riding tools on, and around the slopes. Things that you might have seen in a catalog somewhere, but you'll probably never see in an actual snowboard shop. Some of these things are even fairly difficult to find online. I'd know, because I've certainly tried. Things that you'll almost certainly never, ever get to see up close and personal. Well, these things do exist. And, lucky for me, many of them migrate- with their owners- to Mt. Bohemia.

Take the case of Tom, and his Limited Edition Burton Fish... the Burton Fish being a board that is fairly limited, anyway. So, that would make this the "limited of the limited". Outfitted with Burton CO2 bindings, and a very unusual S-Camber profile (designed to keep the nose up in super-deep powder conditions), Tom brought this up for a two-day stretch in which we were expecting between 18 and 24 inches of new snow, very quickly. Note the shallow, swallow-cutout in the tail (which I'd seen), the extremely short tail (which I hadn't), as well as the mondo, super-wide float-nose (which I'd definitely seen, but never appreciated how monstrous that bitch really is)... sometimes, the Burton catalogs don't really do these things justice. I actually had a lot of fun, just watching Tom have fun on this prize of a setup. I also made a mental note, of course, to purchase something quite like it for myself, asap. We can't let Tom have all the fun in the world, now can we...?!




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And, here we have it! A rare Burton Fish sighting! Very boss, and very, very sexy, as far as snowboards go.This is an '09 Limited 160, with the S-Camber profile, and The Burton Channel... which allows quick, and unlimited on-the-fly stance adjustments, all with just one screwdriver. Serious powder-riding sometimes requires serious powder-riding tools...





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Crystal Falls, Michigan, on the drive home. The drive back was just as beautiful as the drive up, of course. But, truth be told? If I had my way, I would have never, ever left...


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