Hard Ice

Most people don't know that Ronald Reagan spent several of his younger years crisscrossing the country as a spokesman for General Electric. He probably talked to farmers, union laborers, housewives and others on various trips, and I imagine the experience helped his later political career. When my mind wanders during my own sales calls, I often think of him, and wonder if someday I too will be able to sleep in the White House...and then have a little chuckle to myself.

I seem to think about sleeping a fair bit these days, which makes sense since I only stay in cheap motels with the lowest grade mattresses. I work for a farm equipment supplier, and with the economy in the pits, it increases the chances of me keeping my job if I keep my costs down. As it is, I'm barely breaking even and so every little bit helps, even if it means I stay in motels which should have been condemned when Truman was president and have only gone downhill since.

I used to be a wheat farmer, but the big factory farms undercut me and the bank repossessed my place. Lots of people drive through the Great Plains, look at the big homes and probably think farmers are rich. What they don't realize is that many of those farms aren't paid off yet, that those big houses sit on top of big loans which are ticking time bombs when the price of wheat drops. That's what happened to me: a couple bad years and there I was driving through northern Minnesota trying to drum up business for threshers.

Minnesota in Winter. I had no idea it could be so cold, or that there was so much snow in the world.
There was a real and present danger of my rental car getting crunched by one of the mammoth snowplows that were ceaselessly sweeping the highway. At first I thought they were being over-diligent since it hadn't snowed for a couple days but then the snowstorm swept in, turning the world into a swirling mass of snowflakes. Even with my headlights on I could barely see the road, and had to slow for a virtual crawl.

I once met an building engineer at a party and he told me about the different climate zones in the country. Turns out that there are seven big zones, going from tropical down at the tip of Florida to extreme cold up along the Canadian border. You might think I mention that because I'm going to complain about the extreme cold. You're wrong, I mention it because I ended up at the Canadian border. I'd known the area I was selling in was near the border, but I'd had no intention of going there. But, somehow in the snowstorm I'd followed the wrong road and, several storm-blinded hours later, ended up at a border crossing. It was staffed by a solitary Canadian border agent who looked surprised to see anyone pull up.

I'd gone so far out of my way that it didn't make sense for me to try to find the nearest American town for the night, but instead crossed over and went to the nearest Canadian town. According to the kindly border agent there was a decent motel and some open restaurants where I might get a decent dinner.

Imagine this: northern Minnesota sits in our “extreme cold” weather region and yet that's the warmest the Canadians have. It's small wonder that 90% of them live within a hundred miles of the border. Or that they describe their climate of “nine months of winter and three months of poor sledding weather.”

Anyway, I'd never spent much time in Canada before, and wasn't looking forward to spending the evening in a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere. I dreaded the thought of flipping through the television channels, trying to find something that didn't suck and wasn't in French.

I rolled into town and saw it was really most towns I'd seen in my wanderings. I was, however, surprised to see a bunch of cars parked in front of a large warehouse-like structure, and still more cars pulling up. As I got closer I could make out the snow-covered sign that said “arena” and I realized was in time to catch the Friday night hockey game.

What little I did know about Canada centered around hockey. We Americans have our different sports and love to watch a game of football on Thanksgiving but it can't compare to how Canadians are about hockey. It's not so much a way of life as it is a part of their DNA. In metropolitan areas it might be different, but in the small towns of Canada, hockey is a fundamental part of everyone's existence. Everyone plays it growing up, everyone watches it on television, and everyone will go to a local game given the chance. Hell, lots of middle age Canadian men still play in a league while their American equivalents are slouched in a sofa watching basketball. Three quarters of the National Hockey League (NHL) teams are in the United States but more than 50% of NHL players are Canadian. It's even more impressive when you realize that Canada only has one-tenth the population compared to the United States.

I parked and joined the small trickle of people entering the rink. It wasn't as cold inside as I'd thought, but I kept my jacket on and also got a hot coffee from the small concession stand. It was manned by a man who was so friendly he would have been suspicious south of the border, but was apparently quite normal for around here.

I grab a seat in the bleachers and tried to remember the rules of the game. Hockey is different from foot ball in many ways, but there are a couple aspects which I find most interesting. The biggest is that in hockey everyone's role is equally important. Sure, you could say the same in football but the quarterback is still the focus of most attention. It's true: you can probably name the quarterback of a team before you can name the cornerback or any other player. In hockey, everyone touches the puck frequently and everyone has a chance to make great plays. The goalie makes great saves, the defense men shut down the opposition's offensive drives, and the offense tries to take it all home. Any player can be a hero.

A game of hockey is also much more fluid than football, the play shapes back and forth into a single flowing movement. This is very unlike football where each play has to start from lining up and then only moves a couple hards before there is a whistle and they have to line up again. The result is that football is much more about trying a move, stopping, and then trying another move, while hockey is a smooth symphony of passes, shots and plays.

I reflected on all of this as I relaxed on the bleacher, watching the two well-matched teams try their best to gain the upper hand. I didn't get too much into the game, instead standing off at a mental distance and trying to admire it from an abstract, almost philosophical point of view.

Anyway, eventually the game ended and people started to make their way out. I was struck by a weird impulse. Instead of walking out, I climbed to the top of the bleachers and hid myself behind a support pillar. After twenty minutes the final spectators had filed out, the players had made their own exits, the ice was cleaned. The custodian shut off the lights and left.

So now I was alone in the dark in a rink in Canada. I don't know why I hid, it was completely out of
character for me. If you'd asked me what I was thinking, I wouldn't have been able to explain it. I just felt that it would be nice to enjoy the quiet of the rink.

And that's what I did. I sat down at the topmost bleacher and let the deep silence of the rink wash over me. It was very calming. The ice gave a sort of cleanliness to the air and, after the rush of the game, there was something very peaceful about the whole thing.

I don't know how much time passed as I sat there in the darkness. I'd been pretty stressed out the last couple days...couple weeks...couple months, and it seemed like this was the first time I'd had a moment to myself. I let my mind decompress, like an air mattress with a small, but noticeable leak.

And then a light came on in the middle of the rink. Just one, a spotlight that pierced the darkness and lit up center ice from directly above. I was far enough away that I was still comfortably shrouded in darkness, but was definitely surprised to see my little scene so rudely unsettled.

At first nothing else happened, the light simply cast a circle of light on the smooth ice. But then there was the sound of skates on ice, the soft cadence of calm but strong skating. I couldn't see who it was, but I guessed that there were multiple people skating in the darkness of the rink.

This continued for a couple moments until a single person glided into the light at center ice and stopped. Now, I can skate reasonably well but this guy seemed to stop without stopping. I mean, he was moving and then he just seemed to not be moving anymore. He was older (probably wouldn't see fifty again) and had short cropped, gray hair and a solid build. He basically looked like a guy who'd been a laborer or a marine for most of his life.

Okay, so this was strange. But it got weirder when I looked at what he was wearing: he was wrapped in a black robe that looked like it was descended from a karate uniform. It hung on him well and the pant legs hid his skates.

He waited, and then from the darkness twenty people glided into the edge's of the light, forming a wide circle around him. Each was dressed in the same manner, with the black of the uniforms melding with the darkness behind them. There was a moment of silence and the rink seemed to settle.

"Ice is cold" the leader said, his calm, confident voice filling the silence. The echoes faded quickly and there was quiet again.

"Ice is hard." he said, turning slowly as he said it, looking at each of the assembled. “Ice doesn't care if you have a bad day or if you think you're special. It will not treat you any differently than it will treat any other individual. It will break your bones without emotion and you can glide upon its surface without remorse. Ice is cold.”

"Ice is cold." repeated the encircled figures, their voices joining in a solemn chorus.

The leader continued: “Each day we go through our lives and encounter ice, snow and wind. We can take some time and understand these elements. We can know how snow will fall, how wind will sweep across the plains, how ice will freeze. We can develop an understanding of the world around us, we can have knowledge and this knowledge helps give the world structure and form. There might not be joy in this knowledge, for the elements are without caring, without joy, but that is the way of the world. Ice is cold.”

"Ice is cold," intoned the circle.

"The ways of man and those of animals are not much different than that of the storm. Each of us operates according to rules and process and reactions to our environment. Just like the weather operates according to rules that may seem unknowable, there are rules that underline other movements and it is up to us to fathom their depths, and understand the flow of the world. We must examine our own mind's processes, and seek to delve into those of others. We must work to correct those weaknesses in ourself and become stronger. For at some point in our lives we may face challenges and need to struggle to survive against foes or the elements. And if it is the weather that we fight against, we must find the necessary strength within us, since there is no weakness in the snow, no compassion in the storm. Ice is cold and needs no sleep. It has no pity."

"Ice is cold." intoned the others.

"But what is cold? Cold is only perception. Cold is but a word we assign to it. Ice doesn't care that it is cold, it doesn't know its temperature. Ice just is, and cares not for the words of man. If you want it to be cold, it will be cold. Remember that the meaning you have becomes your world. Ice is cold, but only because we make it so."

"Ice is cold." intoned the others.

He let the silence deepen for a moment. "But tonight we are here for a Kumavat. And so let it begin."

On this cue, two of the encircled pulled solid wooden swords from their robes (note to self: people wearing robes can often hide dangerous stuff in afore-mentioned robes). The leader and others faded back into the darkness without a sound.

The two swordsmen bowed deeply to each other. There was a pause, and then they flew together with lightning strikes. Sure, the swords weren't steel, but they were sturdy and any of the blows would have easily cracked a skull or broken a bone.

They were relatively stationary at first, their combat mostly complex swordplay. Each delivered a rain of blows that were blocked and then returned. They were experts but well-matched, so the swords clashed rapidly and yet neither managed to land a blow.

And then they started to skate.

I don't know if you've ever skated, but the dozen times I've done it I've found it hard enough to stay standing. I definitely wouldn't be able to swing a sword with any proficiency while skating, but these two guys where skating at high speeds and still managing to strike out at each other. They circled as shadowy figures in the darkness just outside the circle. Sometimes they would both be skating forward, other times one might be skating backwards. A couple times both were skating backwards, the rain of blows and blocks coming just as fast and as furious. Sometimes they would disappear from sight for a moment and the only sound would be the swords crashing against each other.

I don't know much about sword fighting. I've have never studied fencing and knew nothing beyond what I'd seen in your average samurai film. But, I thought recognized this fighting looked liked a mixture of other fighting styles. I might see a block that looked like something from Japanese kendo. I'd spot a strike that looked like a fencing move. But then see something I'd never seen before.

A couple times I think I saw a blow land, but neither swordsmen cried out either in pain or in celebration. They simply continued their combat, silent and intense.

A hand clapped once in the darkness, and the combat ceased. They and the others returned to the circle and the leader spoke. “You both did well today.”

They bowed at the praise. The leader turned to the larger group. "In the coming weeks, I hope each of you continue to challenge yourselves and deepen training. The excellence in each of us can only be found through diligent study and strength of mind. To pretend otherwise is to ignore reality."

"Ice is cold.” intoned the circle.

"Ice is cold. Let us go in peace, and seek the excellence in each of us..."

The others slowly faded into the darkness and soon only the leader remained, wrapped in the circle of light. He paused and then spoke loudly, his words easily piercing the distance and chilling me to the core for they were meant for my ears. "My apologies if we disturbed your repose. It might strange to you to see such a sight in the dark of a winter's night, but these are our ways."

"In the northern winter the founders of our faith meditated. And as the northern lights danced in the night sky, they crafted the arts that you saw today. I hope you gained benefit from what you saw today." He faded slowly into the darkness. "I wish you peace..."

And then I was alone.

I sat for some time, trying to process what I'd seen. Eventually I got up and exited through a side door. I drove to the only motel in town, checked in, and tried to find sleep The next day, the storm had abated and I was able to easily find my way back to the border, slowing only as I passed the arena.

Not much else to say on the whole experience. I guess if the Shaolin monks could practice and evolve kungfu, and if the Japanese samurai could develop kendo, then there is no reason that Canadians north of Minnesota couldn't develop their own martial art.

I never found out if it had had a name. I don't know if it was widespread, or limited to that one little town. Maybe it's a common thing and its just that I'd never heard of it. Their leader hadn't asked me to keep secret so I feel somewhat comfortable relating this tale. Anyone have any idea what that was?