Snowmobiling: A Short Story

Severe wind gusts were whipping across the sky as the temperature was plummeting rapidly. There were different shades of dark and light clouds swirling all around in a wicked looking and angry sky. Then the sleet like snow started striking my face like a missile stinging each little nerve. Panic struck me and I wanted to run and take cover, but there was no place to hide from the blistering blizzard that was descending upon us.

To start this story from the beginning, I'll provide you with a little narrative description of the incidents and events that are about to unfold.

My husband and I were members of a snowmobile club. There were fifteen couples and almost everybody had their own machine. Meaning, the majority of the women drove their

I bought all the fancy snowmobile clothes and a helmet with a shield, when we bought our machines. We started out with used sleds, but after being a member of the snowmobile club for the first winter, we bought matching black and yellow Ski-doos with a Bearcat-covered trailer. My sled even had a heater and a reverse. I was cool.

We belonged to the club for ten years. Many interesting, dangerous, and fascinating things happened on our weekend trips. I could write a book just about snowmobiling. But I will only bore you with a couple of my stories.

The habitual procedure was that we would travel to a different city in northern Michigan every other weekend during the winter months. The entire club reserved rooms at the same motel. As each couple arrived, the men would unload the machines, unhook and park the trailers. We then went into town for dinner, usually by car. The snowmobile maps would end up on the table and the men would plan the trip for the next morning.

It was the same mode of action for each trip. Leave the motel at nine, ride the trails until noon, eat lunch, gas up the sleds and ride back to the motel. In between leaving and returning, there was always excitement of some kind on each and every

I couldn't see where I was going and drove the sled right into a hole in a snowdrift.

My husband was right behind me, but was able to maneuvering around me. We both wrestled the machine until it was back on the flat surface of the snow again. By this time all I wanted to do was lie down and die. I took off the face shield. I was crying, my snowsuit was utterly soaking wet, my gloves were soaked, my fingers were freezing, and there was no other answer. We had to forge forward with the sleet beating me in the face, until we could reach the motel.

When we arrived at the motel, I was not in a friendly mood, to say the least. I took a bath and packed up my clothes to go home in the morning. On all previous weekend trips, we went snowmobiling on Sunday mornings, before we drove three hours to home.

But not this weekend. I don't want any part of the club, it's members, the snowmobile, or my husband. "I just want to go home."

"Why didn't I just stay at the gas station until the blizzard was