The Ski Journal • Volume 17, Issue 1 • RACING MISS DAISY

If you ain’t first, you’re last. Hagen Strokes embracing the learning curve at Solitude, UT. Photo: Grant Gunderson

Hugo was always one of the better skiers in his age group, but it was apparent right away that the race team was on another level. It didn’t help that we skipped all ski programs for a year during COVID, or that his first race season started slow, only leaving him a couple of weeks to learn how to run gates.

My oldest son came down beaming with excitement after inspection. “Coach Dave told me to slay some gates!” he said. He wore his normal ski pants and a fleece amid the sea of speed suits. “I don’t want to hit the gates, though, so I told him I’d slay them with my wind!”

“Gate Slayer,” a friend dubbed him. But that nickname was short-lived. The one that ultimately stuck was the one my wife came up with as he meandered through his first run, never getting close to a gate nor generating much wind: Driving Miss Daisy.

By run two, Driving Miss Daisy found a way to get the whole crowd behind him. Several seconds into his methodical navigation of the course, the starter sent the next skier. This clearly was not that skier’s first rodeo.

We could hear him cross-blocking gates all the way from the bottom as Hugo maintained his languid descent.

“Go, little guy, go!” Another chirped. Soon the whole crowd was cheering him on, if only so he wouldn’t ruin the next kid’s run.

As Hugo crossed the finish just ahead of the next skier, he raised his fists high in the air and gloriously claimed his third-to-last-place finish.

I was standing next to my friend Jason when Hugo’s name was announced for his third run.

“Your camera may time out before he finishes,” I quipped. Jason gave me a look that said I was the worst parent in the world—not an unfair assessment at the moment, to be honest.

Hugo finished both races in the bottom five, but he had a blast. He especially loved hanging out with all his new friends. As the season went on, he continued to improve, and by midwinter, he was placing near the middle of the pack. Regardless of the result, he finished each race with his signature celebration—raising his arms as if he’d just won the Olympics.

Despite his progression, the Driving Miss Daisy nickname stuck, a private joke between his mom and I, never mentioned to his face until this publication, but used any time we referenced our little Stenmark.

For the last race of the season, Hugo set a goal. “I want to finish the season with no DNFs,” he said. It’s not exactly the recipe for winning races, but it was a step.

Then, in his final run, it all seemed to click. He lowered his hip and picked up speed out of each turn. A third of the way down, though, his skis went sideways, throwing up a huge plume of snow. He’d made the gate, avoiding a DNF, but scrubbed all his speed.

I told him that was the best I’d ever seen him ski. “You just had that one mistake up high, huh?” I said.

“Naw,” he answered, “I just thought I was going too fast and should slow down.” Driving Miss Daisy until the bitter end.

Fast forward a season. Hugo is no longer the frightened new kid. He’s become a mentor to a cadre of recruits, quick to offer advice, even to those faster than him. He also has ambitions of his own.

This season kicked off with a parent-versus-kid dual GS. Driving Miss Daisy raced his mom, the one who, unbeknownst to him, nicknamed him almost a year ago. In one final act of redemption, he blew her doors off, and did it by 10 gates.

The Ski Journal - Volume 17, Issue 1

RACING MISS DAISY

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