Stories | Mountain Sledder Magazine
Sure, you could stuff a couple of Hot Pockets into your muffpot and call it good, but you’re better than that (presumably). Read ahead, and in no time you too will be razzle-dazzling your sledding pals with some culinary pizzaz. Here’s what you need to know.
Exiting the busy flow of the Trans-Canada Highway and starting down the quiet back road toward CKMP, I am overcome with the calming sense that I am about to withdraw from reality for a few days. Nestled in the Interior BC snowbelt between Revelstoke and Sicamous, the deep snowbanks and tall trees lining the road here feel worlds apart from the everyday.
Since your man is not a big mountain rider, it can be assumed he will not have a valuable opinion to contribute here. Fortunately, this means you can forgo involving him in terrain choices or decision making for the day. This will sidestep the potential for a disagreement based on a difference of opinion.
It’s hard to get fired up to ride when you know it hasn’t snowed in two or three weeks. The first key to mentally getting beyond the problem is finding riding partners who are perpetually stoked to shred. That way you know they won’t flake out on you.
This time however, the silence is different. Instead of being enlightening, it is oppressive and crushing. This time you are alone without being alone. This silence is not peaceful and the reflection is focused on regret; regret that you didn’t make time for that avalanche training last year when you could have.
The problem is that those first ride reports don’t usually show all the hazards and crappy parts that had to be endured to get that one sweet—but gingerly executed—pow turn.
So many photos and video from the USA feature a rider shredding with their leg hanging off the running board like a dog marking its territory. Hop overs, turbo-wheelies, and busting ass up gnarly creekbeds: watching the Yankees tear it up is a lesson in precision placement and handling of a snowmobile.
Time marches on and special people that teach us a little about life will continue to pass through our world. Some of these people we will forget and others will leave long-lasting impressions on us. It is up to us to recognize these people and their lessons, for they certainly have no way of knowing the impact that they may have on our lives. You may not even realize what you’ve learned from them until it’s too late to show them your appreciation—when you pull into a familiar old place with a fluorescent green estate sale sign in the driveway.
Your club has been out cutting trees off of the trails, checking bridges and installing culverts, repairing gates and cleaning parking lots. They’ve been brush cutting and clearing, making sure signs and trail markers are visible and safe. Even those outhouses—you know, the ones that save you from a truly embarrassing trailside accident after three gas station burritos—even those need to be cleaned, repaired and stocked by somebody.
Like most spring days, as the hour hand moved past noon the deep, almost-pow turned closer to the consistency of wet cement. Clint and I kept going. It wasn’t really any harder to move with my 165”, but Miller was full pin everywhere on his 146”. We made pulls through the trees, sidehills, popped off pillows of snow and rode some fun creekbeds to end the day.