This must be the place: ‘The sky was dull, and hypothetical, and fallin’ one cloud at a time’
'The Ice Chalet' in Knoxville.
Garret K. Woodward photo
Hello from “The Ice Chalet,” a hockey rink just west of downtown Knoxville, Tennessee, along Kingston Pike. It’s Thursday evening and I find myself one of only three spectators in the bleachers watching some of the finest amateur skaters in this city go at it mere hours after clocking out of their day job.
I’m here for two reasons. For one, my best buddy, Andy, plays for one of the amateur teams, so I’ve swung by to cheer him on as I’m passing through town on assignment. Mainly, I’m en route to Nashville for the weekend, with Knoxville the ideal spot to land before entering Music City come Friday afternoon.
This is my third time finding myself in this rink. The sound of the puck and sticks hitting each other, players slamming up against the boards reminds me of my native Upstate New York. It’s also the smell of an old rink, where the scent of old wood and well-earned sweat conjures images cherished in my memory. It’s also the incessant buzz of the overhead lights.
My view facing forward from the lobby is through the glass and onto the rink itself. These middle-aged men from all walks of life in the Knoxville community, coming together on a weekday night to rush up and down the ice, to slapshot and knock down, to maybe, even for a brief instant or glimpse, feel that electricity of scoring a goal just like their NHL heroes do.
Sitting on the bench with the players later on, word travels down the line to me: the U.S. women’s team won the gold medal against longtime rival Canada in the Winter Olympics today. Cheers and rowdy words of support for Team USA echo throughout the space. Speculation as to how the U.S. men’s team will fare in the coming days. Fingers crossed and God willin’.
Behind me is a chalet-style lobby. It reminds me of something from the Swiss Alps. Retro by nature and ultimately setting the mood of time and place when it comes to the old days of hockey and figure skating. Wandering around the cozy lobby, there’s all kinds of mementos and old equipment strewn about, black and white photos of winning teams now yellowed with age by those overhead lights, trophies covered in dust and a small fireplace.
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On one of the walls, an aged wooden sign says “Lake Placid: Figure Skating Capitol of the World.” Soon, a flood of memories overtakes my thoughts, especially that of the iconic “Miracle on Ice” game in the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid, New York where the U.S. men’s ice hockey team beat the U.S.S.R. and went on to win the gold medal.
I was raised with the “Miracle on Ice” story. My family is deeply-tied to Lake Placid. It’s not only that my family hails from that region of Upstate New York, but my Uncle Craig was even the mayor of Lake Placid for 12 years. My parents attended some of the 1980 Winter Olympic events, too, with Aunt Cheryl actually in attendance for the “Miracle on Ice.” And I remember hearing so many stories about that moment in time growing up.
Those 1980 games are forever etched in the North Country culture. I even spent four summers living a couple blocks away from the Olympic Center Arena, working front-desk at my aunt and uncle’s motel. I’d walk by the arena in the morning, run past it in the afternoons, walk by it again after dinner. I remember seeing concerts there and ice skating on the outdoor oval. It’s never left my heart and soul, the beauty and magic of that place.
And I think back fondly on all those foggy memories of that period of my life. When I was a junior in high school on the Canadian Border, I was dating a girl from nearby Saranac Lake (with Lake Placid the next town over). Each weekend, we’d motor over to Lake Placid in my 1991 Plymouth Acclaim. Grab a cappuccino from the fancy café and walk the snowy streets, peering into the windows of expensive galleries and boutique stores, all while pondering our lives beyond graduation and what “real life” would look like and ultimately become.
Throughout college, I spent those lazy, hazy summer breaks behind the front desk of the (now long-gone) Northway Motel. And I was given my own hotel room to stay in, which was a pretty incredible thing to behold. My own room right on the Lake Placid strip. Whenever I wasn’t checking in guests from around the world, cleaning the pool or mowing the lawn, I was roaming downtown or disappearing into the surrounding Adirondack Mountains.
Whenever I get back to the North Country, which is about once a year at this point, I always take one day to return to Lake Placid, to soak in the beauty, legend and lore of that community. All of my family who used to call that town home have either moved away or transitioned into the next heavenly realm. All of my old cronies from there have also left and are scattered around the country, with some, sadly, also transitioning into the next heavenly realm.
Living in Western North Carolina for the last 14 years, I keep many North Country things close to my heart and soul as ways to not lose my sense of identity, these intrinsic and tangible ways to keep a tether to home: real maple syrup, poutine, skiing, winter hiking, etc. In my apartment, there’s a painting of the fall foliage in the North Country purposely placed as the main focal point when you walk into the front room. There’s the polar bear-shaped Northwest Territories license plate on a nearby shelf, as well as other trinkets.
And hockey is one of the main ways and means by which I avoid homesickness, either in-person at the Knoxville Ice Bears or simply watching my beloved Montreal Canadiens on TV in some sports bar. In truth, it’s amazing, all of the things that run through one’s mind while standing in a rink and watching a bunch of Knoxville dudes playing hockey on an otherwise quiet weekday night. It’s amazing to ponder the journey thus far. Onward.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
Editor’s Note: The U.S. men’s team won the Olympic gold medal following a thrilling overtime victory against Canada on Sunday. This is the first gold for Team USA since the Lake Placid “Miracle on Ice” in 1980.
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GW, thank you for the Hip quote. I’m originally from Wisconsin and learned about the Hip on a fishing trip in the 90’s. Been a fan ever since and I miss Gord Downey’s point of view, may he rest in peace. Be well!
Tuesday, 03/03/2026
