Layer by layer, I slowly prepared myself for our Saturday afternoon snowmobiling adventure.  First the daily undergarments were added to my frame.  Once in place I scrunched up my pantyhose and slid each one of my legs into those nasty “I now know what baloney feels like” casings.  A pair of socks and a pair of jeans followed and then a turtleneck top was seated directly beneath a nice warm sweatshirt.  Earlier in the week I purchased a pair of snow pants complete with buckles and suspenders that were clearly designed for Paul Bunyan or the Jolly Green Giant.  I quickly learned that the ridiculously long straps forming the suspenders were quite easily cinched up if you were willing to slam one end of them in the very nearby bedroom door while making a serious attempt to walk away.

Finally the time had arrived to debut my “It’s -10 and I’m gonna be warm” look to the love of my life.  As crazy and hard as it is to believe, he just chuckled but entered no legible comments.  This proves one of two things.  Number one, he didn’t want to go out snowmobiling alone or Number two, he valued some of the parts he would be tucking into his snow pants, if you know what I mean!  It’s safe to say I looked scarier than the abominable snowman on Rudolph, The Red Nosed Reindeer and I knew if I stayed away from mirrors and avoided looking at the pictures Don snapped with his phone everything would be just fine.

We drove to my brother’s repair shop to install the rest of our gear which included coats, boots, gloves and those very unfashionable, hair style ruining covers you apply to your unsuspecting head to cushion the blow for any surviving curls when you suck in your skull and slip it into the helmet.  Next I spent several minutes fiddling around with the helmet buckle and then out the door we went.

My chivalrous man started my snowmobile and then started his.  We planted our amply covered rumps on our corresponding seats and slowly squeezed the throttles.  He was most likely two tenths of a mile away before he realized I wasn’t behind him.  The helmet was a new experience for me and the combination of my anticipation and the “dog like” panting I was simulating caused some major fog inside the shield covering my face.  I stopped and tried to wipe it off.  I drove 20 feet and then stopped and wiped the visor clear again.  It’s best I not give a detailed account of what I was thinking about then as it wasn’t nice or lady like in any way.

Eventually I decided seeing where I was going wasn’t nearly as important as I had originally thought so I just took off.  It wasn’t long before I realized snowmobiling is much less daunting if you can’t see what’s coming!  Before long we had arrived at our destination.  It’s a safe two mile drive from town that contains no “tippy” spots where I’m forced to lean sideways along the side of the ditch.  Mr Knievel whizzed past me, by me, along side me and over the top of me and observed my “butt leaving seat” moments when I hit some drifts that closely resembled the consistency of concrete.  It was a rather brisk and somewhat windy day with temps -10 below zero  and after several passes on my now favorite track I could hear small voices that appeared to be coming from the insides of my gloves.  Those voices were saying, “Hellooooo!  What are you trying to do to us?”  Those voices were my finger tips.  They were the only part of my flesh that decided to rebel and they stated their case very loudly and very clearly.  Don stopped and after learning that my fingers weren’t staying warm enough on my heated handlebars, he stepped off his sled and said, “Here, ride this sled for awhile and see if these handlebars warm up your fingers.”

The handlebars on his sled were indeed warmer but they presented a new situation I learned I would have to deal with immediately.  The horse power in his sled and mine are somewhat different.  When you squeeze the throttle on mine, eventually you start to move.  When you squeeze the throttle on his the “eventually” is not part of the equation.  The issue with the warmer handlebars isn’t with the handlebars themselves but with the ability to hang onto them once you allow the throttle to tell the motor it’s time to move!

Needless to say, I survived.  This was only my second snowmobile riding adventure and so far I haven’t lost control of my sled, I haven’t tipped over and I haven’t ran into anything or anyone.  I did get a little too “up close and personal” with a tree branch but thankfully the rest of the tree was behind the fence I nearly got hung up in so that helped.  I learned that panting is not the recommended breathing technique one should use when encased in a helmet equipped with a visor no matter how nervous you are, I learned that when Don stops his sled and climbs off of it to look back to see where I am and he’s in snow up to his gonads I should listen to my gut when my guts says, “DON’T FOLLOW  HIM!”