Snowmobiling Adventures

It was several years later that Dad and the guys got into snowmobiles too. Apparently you need machines to ride, wreck, and repair year round. I think the first one was an Arctic Cat, maybe a prowler? And my uncle had a little red phaser that I really loved. It was small enough that I could maneuver more easily than the others. He had that thing for years, even after he had upgraded to a bigger and better machine. The last machine that Dad had was a Polaris Rocky Mountain King. That thing was beautiful and I loved to ride it, although I'm not sure which one of us was actually in control. It was cobalt blue and had way too much power for me. Whatever the equivalent is of a wheelie, I did that about half the time that I took off. I struggled on every corner with that beast but I wouldn't give up. We began winter camping when I was a teenager and that was such a great time. Once, we found an area that was acres of rolling fields covered in the perfect powder. That was the day that I finally learned how to really ride. The guys had installed "mountain bars", which were simply a handle on top of the steering wheel so that you could really lean to the side to use your weight more effectively when turning. Being in open spaces with soft landings meant that I could try over and over again without fear. I fell, or was flung, off that thing many times before I finally became comfortable with it. My riding days were much less frustrating and more fun after that. The years of snow camping blur together after all this time but I can hit some highlights. We went up in the blue mountains for a lot of those trips and it was by far the best. Very secluded with miles for riding. We camped at Haugan behind the Silver Dollar Bar one year. It was fun but didn't have the peace and quiet you got in the Blues. We did discover what other purposes you can use whipped cream cans for. We also went up to Priest Lake, Beaver Creek I think but it could have been Indian Creek. That was the year of the sandy spaghetti. Bill and I were tasked with getting a pot of water from the lake to boil the noodles in. This must have been before the snowmobiles because we used a four wheeler. We didn't want to get our snow boots wet, obviously, so we decided to ride through the shallow water with me dragging the bucket along side. Mission accomplished, we returned back to camp with our pot of water, very proud of our cunning solution. Dinner preparations proceeded along nicely and we all sat down to eat, hungry and tired from a hard day of playing. The taste of that sauce was magic to our hungry mouths, blissfully unaware for that first second of our great mistake. As soon as we started chewing everyone got a little concerned. Our jaws slowed and our eyes darted, I don't think it was long before Bill and I realized what we had done. The tires had obviously stirred up the sandy beach and we had collected sand along with the water. I'm sure some of it was dumped out with the water after being cooked but it takes a surprisingly small amount of sand to cause trouble in a meal. We learned a valuable lesson that day, maybe two lessons actually. First, shortcuts are not always the best route; and second, hunger really is the best seasoning.