The Finer Art of Riding Snowmobiles

My good friend from work, Frank, asked me if I wanted to go snowmobiling with him. At first I declined because I was a little bit nervous about the whole concept seeing that I have been on a snowmobile like once in my life. See, Frank owns a Ski-Doo dealership, so in my mind Frank and his friends = cool; me = dweeb. Frank assured me that I had nothing to fear because when they go riding they 'ride for the group', which is supposed to mean something akin to 'no child left behind', and we all know how well that works. So, with a little trepidation, I agreed to go, hoping for the best or an early breakdown, whichever saved my bacon first.

We drove to a remote location near the Utah/Idaho border. The whole time as we kept getting further from civilization, I was thinking about how long I would have to 'hold on' until life flight could get to me. We arrived at the arranged spot to find that 'the group' was all there in their trucks with names like F-750-gazillion or Ram Destroyer of smallish girly-man trucks. These trucks were pulling trailers the size of Noah's ark.

The next thing that happened seemed to be a scene straight out of the movie 'The Right Stuff' where the astronauts put on their space suits in slow motion in anticipation of a historic rocket ride to the moon. Everything matched; everything had logos; everything was black; everything looked like it would withstand temperatures up to 5000 degrees Fahrenheit. Were they planning on a pleasant day of riding or breaking the latest land speed records?

Next came the 'sleds'. They opened a side door on our trailer that looked like one of twenty-five possible escape hatches that could be used in the need of a quick get away. Just from the look of them you could tell that they had power, and it was all that they could do to hold back on the reins to keep them from escaping back into the wild. Frank gave me the quick reader's digest version of the lifetime knowledge needed to operate one of these beasts. He said,"Here's the accelerator on this side. The break's on the other side, but ignore it and all of the other buttons, switches, and safety devices." As an after thought he did point out to me the button that turned on the hand warmer. Later on I wished that he would have shown me the button that would clean itself up after I soiled myself after a few fearsome vertical ascents that we made (but I am getting ahead of myself).

I next noticed a couple of interesting things. The speedometer on my sled went up to 200. What was up with that? If a snowmobile was meant to go that fast wouldn't they have been born with retractable wings, an altimeter, and in flight drink service. I probably shouldn't speak too quickly, probably next year's model will. I also noticed that the model name for my sled was Summit. No doubt this name came from the fact that it could reach the top of Mount Everest without the aid of a Sherpa or oxygen. I also noticed that my sled only had about 50 miles on it. Frank said that I got to work for him today. Sometimes they have companies buy sleds but they don't want to pick them up until they have about 300 miles on them. This is so all of the early kinks and problems are worked out before they get them. If they ever needed to say,"this little beauty has only been driven back and forth to church by a little old lady", they had the right man, so to speak.

I looked around and noticed one of the other sleds had advertising stickers all over it and the name of the rider emblazened on the side. Could it be that once you reach snowmobiling Nirvana that they start naming sleds after you? I later found out that he was a professional rider that was on the hill climbing circuit. If only I had known as a kid that I could have gone pro, I would have picked up the sport well before the age of 40.

The other interesting thing that I noticed about these sleds is that some of them had huge saddle bags strapped to the back ends. I mean these were the size of body bags. Then the thought occurred to me if this was what they were planning to haul me out in. At first I was relieved to find out that these storage containers were actually for their favorite beverage of choice: beer. Upon this realization, a whole new set of worries entered my mind. No wonder their trailers were the size of aircraft carriers. I almost thought that it would have been easier just to strap a kegger to each sled. Thankfully, I kept this suggestion to myself seeing that they probably would have done this for their next ride. I guess there was some versatility in this setup. They could still use the beer holders as body bags as long as they consumed all of the alcohol first.

Well, upon topping off our tanks with pure testosterone, we headed out. I was gratefully surprised that we started out on a pace that I could actually keep up with. I quickly learned that snowmobiles have a mind of their own. For some reason they always want to go down hill regardless of the direction that you want to travel. You have to show them who is the boss. You do this by throwing your weight around and by standing and sitting on your sled in every conceivable way and position. Me being a little naive, thought that they put seats on these things so you could sit down and enjoy the ride. I still have a lot to learn about snowmobile assertiveness.

Just as I was starting to get the hang of this, they all stopped in a group. This was to become the first beer break. This was to be the pattern for the whole day: ride for 30 minutes and then stop and have a few beers. I also noticed that after every stop, the next riding segment became a little more aggressive. At the end of the first break we were facing a steep mountain side. I thought to myself, "well, I guess that we need to turn around and head back." Of course I was wrong. First, one went straight up the side of what seemed to be an insurmountable cliff. Then another and another, until there were ten snowmobiles flitting around on the side of the mountain criss-crossing in what I would describe as chaotic symmetry.

This is how the day went, periods of kicked back beer guzzling followed by the most amazing feats of snowmobiling that I could ever imagine. It was actually quite amazing. These guys had some serious snowmobiling skills. The two most memorable feats for me was first, when one guy went airborne about twenty feet in the air off a hill and then landing on the back end of the snowmobile in some deep powder and then immediately spinning around in four or five pirouettes before driving seamlessly away. The other was when a guy was on a near vertical face and laid his sled on its side and started spinning in tight circles like a ferris wheel.

Once a guy stopped and asked if I wanted to take a shot at one particular hill. With my quick witted thinking skills I told him that I needed to baby the machine that I was on for Frank. He said that he would let me take his sled. Without losing a breath I blurted out that I had broken my leg and that I needed a little more time for it to heal. Whew, disaster averted.

We eventually made our way into a deep steep canyon with no exit. The only way out was back up a very long and steep hill. Here was my chance to prove all of my skills that I had developed over the last two hours. I failed miserably at getting out three times. After each time, I would get a pep talk from each of the other riders as they all gave me advice like, "When it looks like all hope is lost and you are getting thrashed around on the sled, just open it up and give it all that she has. Your sled knows the way home and if you can hold on she'll take you to the top." I must have found some inspiration in those words because on the fourth try I actually made it to the top. There was a mighty round of fist pumping in celebration and of course another round of beer drinking.

I now had become somewhat of a folk hero. I was now everyone's little buddy, and from henceforth everyone had to keep asking me how I was doing and if I was having fun. As the day came to a close, I did find my skills improving and I actually started catching some air off of some hills. I don't know if it was the exhaust fumes that had started destroying my rational thinking brain cells or if I was just catching the vision of snowmobiling Nirvana.

Whatever it was, I did have fun, but I don't ever see me breaking down to spend all of the money that it takes to ride snowmobiles, and that is just for the beer. Good thing I am not a beer drinker, so I can keep a rationale perspective on the man-toy thing.