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In the neighborhood where I grew up there was no such thing as "ice time." I grew up on the mean rinks of Golden Valley, a first-ring suburb of Minneapolis. I'm not talking about the old money neighborhoods in and around Tyrol Hills that tickle Benilde-St. Margaret and the old Lincoln Del off Highway 100. No sir. I'm talking about the northwest corner of Golden Valley, just south of New Hope - also known at the time as "No Hope" - where dreams of making it big died young and everything looked gray. Think of a monochromatic Pennsylvania steelworker town, add an extra dash of bleak and desperation, and you have my neighborhood.

Ice time was a very foreign term to us. It conjured up images of cavernous arenas and sports domes with perfect sheets of ice, complete with Zambonis, referees, penalty boxes and scoreboards. No, where I'm from, ice time meant some pimply-faced goon, hot-boxing a heater behind the warming house, was going to slam your face against the ice if you cracked wise. After that, depending on whether or not you had any buddies around, you'd all drop your wool-lined leather choppers and all heck'd break loose. Thank goodness our dads made us write our initials on the backs of our choppers in big block letters so we could sort them out following these melees.

I'm still a huge fan of public ice rinks. I recall as a kid spending entire weekends at the rink, which was a half block from our house. On weekdays, my brother and I would lace up our skates in the house right after school and walk the short distance to the rink on our rubber blade guards. When Mom would yell for us out the kitchen window at 5:00, we'd run home for dinner, scarf down our meal and get back to the rink and skate until 7:00 or so. Our ice time was free and there was no shortage of it.

I sometimes wonder if kids today are getting enough of that same ice time on our area rinks. My boys and I surely don't see throngs of skaters at our local rink. Of course it has been quite cold lately. Perhaps numbers will increase once this Siberian air leaves us.

It is encouraging to know that if city park and rec dollars are tough to come by in these tough economic times, you certainly wouldn't know it to look at our local rinks. There is an unsung group of private individuals and fire departments that work all winter long to keep our rinks in outstanding shape. (I recently heard from a reliable source that donated hockey boards might find their way to the TF rink). I believe wholeheartedly that some of the very best skating can be had on our public rinks. Some of my very best memories as a kid include pick-up hockey games down at the neighborhood rink. In other words, there's a lot to be said about unscheduled outdoor ice time. The best thing about a public rink is you can skate whenever you want.

I'd like to put the word out there to parents and young people to use our local rinks and lend a hand when time allows. Many of these rinks have nifty warming houses and shovels there for our use, but don't forget to give a little something back each time you visit. Pick up after one another in and around the warming house and clear the ice if necessary. Of course, each rink relies on money and volunteered time, so don't hesitate to put your money and efforts where your skates are and show your support.

One evening last week, before my boys and I hit the warming house to take off our skates and get home in time for dinner, I decided to uncork a slapshot. You know, see if the Old Man could still bring it. I judged my distance to be somewhere between the blue line and red line. A moment after whiffing the puck and before thudding against the ice, I recall my body contorting in midair. Anders and Augie, who are quite good on their skis and capable of performing all sorts of tricks on the Terrain Park at Wild Mountain, claim that I performed an off-axis-tail-grab 540. What I remember after that was lying on the ice and seeing all the pretty stars in the night sky and my boys simultaneously saying, "Sweeeeeeet!"

Needless to say, I refused to let the night end on that note, so I picked myself off the ice with as much dignity as I could muster and circled around again for a second try. This time, I made sure to keep my head down. My Mikko Koivu-like slapper left the ice at a blistering speed and rose menacingly as it neared the net. If a goalie was standing there in the crease, I seriously doubt he could've got his glove up in the corner fast enough. "Tink!" The puck ricocheted off the cross pipe and sailed into the woods, never to be seen again until the spring melt.

Yes, more great memories of skating with my boys on a public rink. You really should grab your skates and visit your local rink. Outdoor skating is a wonderful pastime and a great way to enjoy our Minnesota winters.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

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