Story-A-Day #116: Sledding

SLEDDING

I never appreciated the appeal of snowmobiles. When I was younger, I went out a few times with friends, and it was a thrill for sure, but as I grew up, I found myself preferring the quiet peace of more traditional methods of winter transportation.

Cross country skiing, and downhill when I could afford it, provided a nice way to get around, while appreciating the serene beauty of a fresh snowfall. Seeing the evergreen boughs drooping under the weight of a fresh snowfall, the small chickadees flittering through the air, while gliding past on a pair of fresh waxed skis is almost transcendental.

Feeling the rush of wind past your face as you maneuver your way down a tricky trail on a GT SnoRacer was one of the greatest thrills of my adolescence, arching up a bank of snow and angling through a narrow gap in the trees provided not only immense satisfaction to my inner daredevil, but also a surge of adrenaline that was second to none. Repeating the task at the same time as my friends only increased the buzz.

Even a laborious hike with nothing but your boots, struggling through hip deep snow and blazing an awkward trail through unexplored vistas delivered an immense thrill of satisfaction.

Something about the roar and obnoxiousness of those lumbering gas hogs never fully appealed to me. When you get out there though, and you can feel that roaring engine beneath you, the shuddering jolts as you skim across the surface, there is a satisfaction to it. There is excitement.

There is also a penchant for cheesy matching outfits branded to the brink of Nascarian madness. That is something I could never embrace.

I suppose the thrill of a sled is like the thrill of a rollercoaster, except that you aren’t confined to rails. Roller coasters are great, but I wouldn’t want to ride one every day.

No, I think I will stick to the simpler means of transportation. Maybe it will be a horse-drawn sleigh ride? Maybe I will be on skiis? Maybe I will hike along the lengths of an ice covered river with my friends and hope that the ice will hold our weight, and if it doesn’t, maybe I will react quick enough to catch the guy in front of me before he goes under. Maybe I will race down the winter trails on my fragile hunk of metal and plastic and cut a new path for those behind me to follow.

Of course, there’s always the chance that I will try that machine once more, and maybe this time, I will be enraptured by the thrill of the speed, power and goofy outfits that it provides. Probably not, but maybe...