First and Last Snowmobile Ride

As I look out the window at the finally fallen snow I know it won't be long before I hear the rumbling sounds of snowmobilers zooming out in the fields enjoying their time on their fast machine.  I reflect back to a time when I took my first ride in the drivers seat in one of those things....

     I was about 13 or 14 years old and my mom, sister Lisa, and Matt,a guy my sister was dating at the time went up to our family cabin at Houghton Lake, Mi.  We had an Arctic Cat snowmobile in our garage that my grandpa used to ride before he became sick and lost his battle with cancer a few years prior.  This was one of our first winters up to the cabin since the death of both my grandparents. 

     Matt, who has grown up around snowmobiles offered to take us out on the ice for some sledding fun.  And it was.  I would sit on the seawall and watch Matt and my sister go off on the frozen lake zipping back and forth.  Then it was my turn.  I remember it was fast and fun!  There wasn't any fear in it.  We would pass other snowmobilers and give a quick wave hi.  All was going well.

     We pulled the snowmobile around to the garage to put more gas into it.  I asked if I could drive it.  My sister quickly told me no.  Matt, thinking it over, told my sister that his younger brother,who is a year younger than me, can drive them and he thinks I could too.   She gave in reluctantly.  He gave me a quick lesson and how to move the handle bars forward for one direction and back for another direction.  He said while turning it might take a moment for the snowmobile to turn because of some sliding but don't worry about it. 

     I turn on the key and the motor starts.  I felt in total control and so much older.  I can do this, I thought, I can drive a snowmobile!  I look up at Matt and my sister, my eyes beaming through the tinted glass in the helmet.  I look forward and slowly move the gear forward.  The snowmobile lurched ahead.  My goal was to make a lap around the house and back.  I start to turn the handle bars to the left and the snowmobile kept going straight. 

     I panicked and that was putting it lightly.  Piled high in front of me two houses down was stacked wood for someone's fireplace.  I pictured myself hitting the woodpile and flying over the woodpile and smacking myself on their concrete driveway.  I couldn't remember which was the break and which was the side to make it go faster.  In my fear I squeezed the handlebars turning them both forward.  The woodpile came closer and closer.  I close my eyes to brace for impact.  CRASH!!! 

     I took a breath.  I was still sitting on the snowmobile.  I'm alive!  I didn't fly over this woodpile!  My sister and her boyfriend quickly came to my rescuse.  Matt turned off the key while my sister scooped me off.  She said I looked so funny as in one motion my body lifted up from the impact and came back down never letting go of the handlebars. 

     The snowmobile wasn't in that great of shape.  The left ski was all twisted and bent and the headlight and part of the hood was cracked.  We were able to bend back the ski and it was still usable but I sure wasn't going to be the one to use it. 

     Going into the house we told mom what happened.  Needless to say I was grounded and mom wasn't too thrilled either with the older two who let me do such a foolish thing.  The next day my muscles were so sore from bracing myself for the impact that it hurt to move.  It is twenty years later and I have never been back on a snowmobile and I still have no interest in riding one ever again.