Days like today in the land of dairy make me want to suit up and hit the trails. It's 28 and sunny and we've got snow. You'd think this would be a given- snow in Minnesota. Ha! These past few years have been terrible for our winter outdoor activities.
I know better than to get out there today, however. For one thing, we were pessimistic and didn't clean the carbs on the sleds this year. And clean the carbs in March? Forgettaboutit.
For another, after the good 6 inches we got last week, it partially melted and the trails were 9 inches of slush. Then the snow gods shone down on us and blessed us with 10 inches of snow on top of the slush. If you're into waterskipping and feeling like a human slushy, I suppose you could have at it. Not this chica. I dream of the days past when weather's been like this and the trails are groomed and I'm leisurely drifting through the trails with my friends and family. SO BAD, I want to be doing just that right now.
I'd like not for you to get the wrong impression. I'm not the greatest snowmobile rider in the world. I'm not the worst, either. I can keep up with the boys when need be, but sometimes I crash. And hit things. And tip over. And need to be shoveled out.
My very first time riding a snowmobile was in college. I had to borrow one from my niece. It was a Polaris, I know for sure, but other than that, it was small, light blue and had no power. But I was grateful for the opportunity to go after hearing so many of Paul's family stories. I think I did okay running the thing. I was given the instructions of: here's the throttle, here's the brake and don't run into anyone. And lean.- Lean? Like into the corner? Away from the direction I was turning? I wasn't given this information. I took a lap around the yard and we hit the trail. I can't recall how fast I went that first day. I sure hope it was faster than some of the newbies I've been subjected to riding with since. I'm pretty sure I did okay. Until.... We were cruising along through a field and approaching a nearby town when there was a bend in the trail because of a three foot V shaped ravine. I missed the turn, flew off the one side of the embankment and straight into the other sidewall of the ravine. The ski and nose of the sled hit frozen earth and my helmet (borrowed as well) flew off, leaving my face and subsequently the rest of my body to be stopped by the windshield. Make sure your helmet fits, people. I was recently at the dentist and the hygienist mentioned the scar that my lower gum still possesses from this tryst. Paul likes to end this story by saying, "Then I got to ride the sled with the broken windshield and twisted up ski to the next town to be trailered home and who do I see blowing by me at 80 on MY sled? Sarah." I took full advantage of riding his faster and much cushier than mine sled. Since a truck and trailer with sober driver showed up, we subsequently got absolutely plastered and I couldn't move for the next four days. Rides like that are hard on a girl!
Then there was the time I ran over a fence post. I swear it came out of nowhere and I had to make a choice- try to miss it and run the risk of it hooking the ski and flinging me off like a ragdoll or hit it straight on and hope it bent. It bent and my snowmobile was only a little scratched.
There was the time we went to the U.P. of Michigan. This is how my snowmobile spent most of its time:
My poor nephew, Josh. He was so nice to keep digging me out and pull starting my snowmobile. I tipped over so many times, I finally started posing for the pictures. I have to say, one of the most entertaining parts of the trip was going to the Pub n' Grub for supper that night and watching people do shotskis. This is where they have a snow ski with shot glasses on them and the patrons line up, lift the ski and take the shots all together. Pure Northern American fun.
Just to prove I'm not a total sissy girl on a sled, I'm going to tell you a little story of a girl who had enough. We were out for a rather large ride one winter day. It wasn't a large ride mile wise, but there were probably 40 sleds in our pack with riders of all different abilities and snowmobiles in all shapes. We spent a lot of time waiting for laggers or showoffs or breakdowns. We waited so long, in fact, that I read the warning stickers affixed to the dash of my snowmobile. Then I noticed the same warnings and instructions were printed in Spanish on the adjoining side.... I'm sorry, but when's the last time you saw a Mexican on a snowmobile??? Anyway, we FINALLY got on the homestretch and one of our buddies kept whizzing by my and hitting my kill switch. I did not have electric start and couldn't pull start the pig to save my life. One of our other buddies saw that I had once again fallen behind and was in need of assistance.... He turned back and got me going. He tells the rest of the story as, "And pretty soon, I see Sarah going mach10, whipping her snowmobile around about 20 other people, so I follow her 'cause I thought something was wrong and we needed to get somewhere in a quick hurry. Before I know it, she stops next to ("buddy" who kept killing my sled) jumps up on her seat, wails her arm on top of his helmet, takes hers off and head-butts him in the stomach with her helmet and shuts his sled down." Yup, I did that. I laughed my butt off the whole way to the next bar and bought the guy a beer when we got there.
Now that it's getting darker and colder outside and it took me forever to write this post (guess my head wasn't into writing or keeping on task today) I'm totally over getting on the snowmobile. Four wheelers, here we come!
