Equipment (non) theft: A pleasant surprise

Sometimes you do get a lucky break.

Yesterday, I went to a Nordic center for some cross-country skiing. Once in the parking lot, I walked to the ski rack on the trailhead side of the chalet, deposited my skis and poles, and then took my boots inside. After putting on my boots, I went to the ticket window to buy my day pass. Then I saw a notice about race.

“What time does it start?,” I asked.

“About 20 minutes. There will be buses from five high schools,” the attendant replied.

So much for the serenity of some cross-country skiing.

I put my shoes back on, and, remembering that my snowboard was in the van, drove a short distance to the downhill area. On the chairlift, I could hear the cowbells clanging for the racers, and even see some of them climbing a hill I’ve never tried to take on.

This morning I returned to the Nordic center, to complete my Nordic expedition. I opened the back of the van and … could not find my skis or my poles.

It didn’t take long to conclude that I had left them on the rack by the chalet. I could at least hope that someone had turned them at the end of the day.

I returned to the ticket window and talked with yet another agent, who suggested I look outside. I did.

My skis, and poles, were still on the rack, right where I had left them more than 24 hours before.

I must admit to being pleasantly surprised. Granted, the skis are not new, and they’re not high-end. But they’re ancient, either. They’re in decent shape and the bindings are modern, not the three-pin variety. The poles, meanwhile, retail for another $100.

I mentioned all this to my sister-in-law, who said, “Maybe Nordic skiing is for honest people. It’s too much work for hoodlums.” A friend of mine said, “Maybe your skis weren’t cool enough.”

Whenever I’m snowboarding or downhill skiing, I leave my equipment outside whenever I enter a lodge. On occasion, I worry about it, but then console myself with the idea that empathy holds sway: “I know how much I enjoy this sport, and would not take away someone else’s tools.” Perhaps that’s what most people think. Yet it only takes one who doesn’t to ruin your day, and yes, theft does happen. It just didn’t happen today.

Does Nordic skiing attract a more empathetic group of people? Does the fact that it involves work, all the time, make a difference? Was I just lucky? Is my fear of theft overblown?

What do you think?