Remembering Lars Larson

In each of our lives, there are people we meet and get to know who forever thereafter alter the course of our lives. At the time we knew them, we most often don't appreciate the degree of their influence; not until years later, when all that remains are memories of good times together, do we suddenly have an epiphany of just what a lasting impact they had upon us. What we find is that for however long we knew them, their friendship and influence has lasted a lifetime. I have had occasion to have encountered many such remarkable people who I am eternally grateful to for dramatically influencing me along the course I have followed. One among them was a Norwegian cross-country skier by the name of Lars Larson.

I met Lars forty years ago while we were each living in Vail, Colorado. At the time I was rooming with a Brit named Bryan Lodge, a mutual friend pictured below with Lars. The three of us would climb high peaks in the summer and cross-country ski when the snow covered the high country, living la dolce vita chasing youthful dreams of wild adventures. Lars was one of a kind, unlike anyone else I had met before, or since.

  

The story of Lars that I hold in my memory, sometimes even I wonder about. His mythos, in retrospect, absolutely seems larger than life. Had I not known the man, I might wonder about it even more. Lars was selected to represent his native Norway in Olympic nordic skiing, I am guessing for the winter Games of 1968. Before he was able to toe the line and compete in the Games he was injured in an automobile accident – with a spinal injury so egregious that he was rendered a paraplegic, confined to a hospital bed and unable to move any part of his body below his neck. As a highly accomplished athlete, I can only imagine what must have gone through his mind once he realized his condition and prognosis.

Lars was probably 15 years older than me, which would have made him 45 or so during the wild times we shared. Even then, before I knew his story, it stunned me that such an “old guy” had such physical prowess. I was in my prime and was quite accomplished at both running trails and climbing at altitude, so it more than caught my notice when this guy could walk away from me on climbs, despite my best effort to keep up, and could out-dance me on the talus and scree slopes to run faster and more efficiently back down from the tops of mountains. I was a reasonably good athlete, but this "old guy" was remarkably superior.

As he conveyed his story, his transition from helpless paraplegic back to superior athleticism began with a visit to his hospital bed by his brother, who first challenged Lars to attempt to wiggle his big toe while lying helplessly paralyzed. It wasn't magical and it didn't happen right away, but Lars focused and was finally able to twitch his big toe after devoted attention to the challenge. Lars was disciplined and very goal oriented so one can project out without too much imagination that once he overcame this first obstacle and gained a foothold of confidence, the rest would only be a matter of time.

Long story shortened, Lars worked diligently to regain full use and control of his entire body and ultimately reconditioned himself to once again be an active athlete. One can only imagine the unsung heroics he must have celebrated with minor accomplishments at every stage. I only knew the final result the man had achieved, so I can only wonder in awe about the path he must have followed to get there.

I remember small campfires we would build on top of the snow with pine boughs and twigs while cross-country skiing. We'd warm ourselves at the fire while taking a break for snacks. Bryan and I always had to be mindful of the fact that Lars had no sensitivity to external stimuli in his hands and feet. He could have picked up an ember or hot frying pan and never recognized it was melting his flesh until he could smell it. Lars could feel nothing. Same thing with his feet. We had to be mindful to keep moving so that none of us, especially Lars, suffered frostbite of our toes.

It was Lars who taught me the fundamentals of cross-country ski skating at Tennessee Pass on the Continental Divide south of Leadville. At the time, Lars was participating on a commission to map a proposed route for what would become known as the Colorado Trail, from Waterton Canyon to Durango. I remember Lars wanting to show Bryan and I some of the trails on the proposed route while skiing on the Divide. It still brings me pleasure to relive those times whenever I return to Tennessee Pass to run those same trails from time to time.

All of this makes for a heroic story, certainly, but it is not my time with him that left such a lasting impression. Lars was an independent contractor who worked in the construction trades. He drove a truck that carried all the tools he needed to work with lumber, electrical, or plumbing; he could do it all, and since Vail was experiencing explosive growth around 1980, there was no lack of construction work.

Lars would go from one job site to the next, often sleeping wherever he finished for the day, especially during inclement weather since he did not rent an apartment and there was certainly not enough room in the back of his truck to stretch out after a long day hammering nails. Most days, summer or winter – it didn't matter - Lars would head to the mountains after a day of work to find a place to sleep for the night. I had a similar lifestyle myself in those days in the warmer months, but I took refuge indoors, by contrast, during the long winter months in the mountains.

The National Forest surrounded us on all sides, so one could park nearly anywhere and set up camp without hassle on public lands. The difference between my lifestyle and that of Lars was that I would most often pull into an isolated location in the National Forest and sleep in my comfortable hippy van, only occasionally setting up a tent or venturing back into the woods to camp. Lars characteristically would park his truck someplace along some forest road, take pack and sleeping bag to shoulder, and hike in to some remote location to sleep under the stars most every night – summer and winter.

One of the things that impressed me most about Lars is that he picked a different venue for a different adventure every evening. He didn't need a trail; Lars would make his own path wherever he stopped for the day. Every evening was a fresh adventure with unforeseen surprises and wild delights for new stories. There were very few places on or off the beaten path in and around Vail that Lars did not have some intimate knowledge of. Lars discovered far more about the Colorado mountains than me or anyone else in my acquaintance.

Lars experienced more freedom than perhaps anyone I have ever met; he could turn his back and walk away from the world at any moment. Certainly not a hermit by any reckoning, Lars was delightfully gregarious with beaucoup stories and genuinely liked the company of other people. But he had this far off calling and when he heard the voice within, he could easily get lost from the rest of the world, without a care or concern for accountability. A part of me has always been envious of his lifestyle, I suppose.

The greatest lesson he left me was his lack of attachment – to anything – to work, to relationships, to patterns of any kind, and probably even to life and death. Having had a Near Death Experience myself, a part of me can relate to what he must have learned from his accident and recovery experience. To be given a second chance in life stirs one to appreciate living and dying from an entirely different perspective than that of the everyday person. Lars truly lived life well, on his own terms, and shared it with gusto with those of us lucky enough to have had the privilege to know him. He had the kind of spirit that continues to this day to remind me: “DON'T WASTE A MOMENT”.

Lars taught me to live fully, to always have a dream to chase, to keep life fresh, and to live every moment with profound joy and gratitude. Bryan told me Lars eventually moved to the West Coast with a girl friend and eventually slept indoors some of the time, but I'm guessing his compromise was only because it was too long of a daily drive up to the high desert from the LA basin. I don't know anything more about the years before or after we shared a bit of this life together; wherever he is – here or there – I know that I can always find the vigor and smile of my friend Lars Larson in the deep recesses of my own soul.