Late season snowmobiling

More snow blanketed western Maine a couple weeks ago than we knew what to do with. I didn’t stand around thinking about it though, I got the sled out.

Kimmy was eager to take advantage of a day off from work and decided to tag along. We didn’t have a destination, anybody to meet up with, or time restraints; our only mission was to take advantage of the splendid afternoon. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the wind was calm, and the temperature was reasonable; all in all, it was a great opportunity to hit the trails.

We decided to stick close to home just in case the sled we were riding decided to have problems, so we accessed a nearby powerline that provided a reasonably well-traveled trail. Kimmy held around my waist tightly as we climbed steeper parts in the trail, and let out quite an “EEEK!” each time we’d scale a summit and begin to make our way down the steeper back side.

The snow was a great medium to be traveling through. Off the side of the trail was just enough crust to keep a light person from dropping through deeper, and a smooth layer of snow waiting beneath, 3-4 feet deep.

We putted down the trail at a slow pace, slow enough to observe our surroundings and to stop if we saw anything of particular interest. Expecting to see other people riding, we were cautious around corners and cresting hills, but we never came across another person. I don’t do much recreational sledding, but I was ready to form a big “0” with my mitten to indicate I wasn’t traveling with anyone. People still do that, right?

At one point I pulled off the trail onto a nearby field that exhibited week-old tracks from a previous sled. As I brought the machine to a halt, I hopped off so Kimmy could take the helm. She had done a little snowmobiling with her father as a young kid, but nothing in recent years. “No, that’s OK…” she said with hesitation.

“Oh, come on. How about a little ways, that way you can at least say you did!” I replied with utmost good intentions. She slid up the seat so she was at the handlebars and I sat down behind her to begin the tutorial.

“This,” I said pointing to the red kill switch, “is what you hit if you panic and want to stop the motor quickly. At your left hand you have the brakes; at your right is the gas. When you let off the gas, it can have the same effect braking would.” (I’m no Levi Lavallee, but they all seemed like solid pointers). We had already gone over the basics of leaning during the turns, so I figured she was ready. I reminded her the brakes were on the left and held on. We zoomed up, down, and around the crowns and crests of the field. We went slowly at first, but towards the end there was the occasional fast spurt as Kimmy got the hang of it.

Eventually she pulled the sled up to where we had originally started, and vocalized a “Hmmpf!” of satisfaction before saying, “There’s so many options, I don’t know what to do! There’s no where to go!” I knew what she meant, so I didn’t bother getting into logicalities and regained the helm at her request. Kimmy wasn’t comfortable riding on the trail itself, that’s why a field with gentle slopes was ideal for a beginner. However, you can only go around that field so many times before thinking, now what?

We continued on what turned out to be a fairly long circuit through the back woods of Farmington, but eventually we pulled a U and headed for home.

Since this snowmobile ride took place, the snow has had a chance to freeze, thaw and slush, and now more recently, recollect itself with a few audacious late-March flurries. I couldn’t tell you what the riding is like currently, but if I had to guess, doable—after all, there’s still snow on the ground. Carpe Diem!

Oh, and I’d like to leave off with a little D.A.R.E (Don’t Always Race Everyone) reminder: If you do get a chance to go out, try not to push it with your sleds…that’s when things tend to get hairy. Happy sledding western Maine!