Yesterday I told you that C and I have recently had a great bonding experience. It’s true. No, we aren’t pregnant, and no, we didn’t get lost in the woods. We went snowmobiling.
Back in March I ranted to you about my husband’s purchase of a Ski-Doo snowmobile. I had managed to avoid seeing it until this Monday, when, after much pleading and a horrible attitude on my part, we drove off for a ride. Imagine your favorite seven-year old’s reaction after finding out that he or she was going to have to wear that Christmas outfit again. The protruding chin and bottom lip. The smug expression. The single-eyebrow raise. I have been practicing this move since I was five. You can ask my Dad, who’s seen it a million times. Smiling is my favorite, but this expression seems to run a close second. It’s a shame.
So we head out to camp, where C works and keeps his snowmobile. I start strapping equipment on like a kid at ski school while he gasses up the sled. How can a helmet be this big?? I feel like I should be flying an F-4 Phantom. Luckily, it’s around 55 degrees out, so we don’t have to bundle up, but the lack of body girth makes us look like two giant Q-tips. Due to the warm weather we’ve been having, the snow has turned into mashed potatoes, and the conditions for snowmobiling are less than desirable. But we press on.
And it was awesome.
Once C showed me the ropes, we went back for a friend’s sled so that we could each drive solo. Do you know that to turn one of these bad boys, you have to hang your body off of one side of the sled? I almost flung myself over the front windshield while jumping a snow bank, and fell off the back while trying to stay out of a ditch. And while my hands felt like I’d just mowed a football field with a pair of clipping shears, I left our excursion in one piece, smelling like a two-stroke engine.
Now that I have the helmet, I might moonlight as Boba Fett on weekends.
Yet another reason for you to come visit.
It turns out that riding a snowmobile off-trail is way more fun, way more thrilling, and way more physically demanding than I thought. I had already worked out on Monday morning, and this little adventure threw my shoulders and upper back into overdrive. All in all, this week I have come to respect this rousing diversion, and I think my husband likes me a lot more for finally looking at his sled.
So, go out and do something crazy this week for the one you love. I wouldn’t recommend using the toddler pout unless you absolutely have to, but I’m not going to judge, either. And since I have spent so many man-hours throwing this hobby under the bus, I have some work to get to. I’ll be in the corner, removing my foot from my mouth so that I can eat my words.