Winter 1972

Growing up, my parents always made sure there were plenty of outside activities for us as a family to do.  Summers included dirt bikes, camping, “Jeeping” in the back country and even a pack mule.  Winters brought out the snowmobiles, World War II “Coot” and Sno-Cats as well as skiing and skating.

We lived across the street from the Music Tent on the west end of town where a large parking lot was located.  In the winter every day after school I would go home with a few friends and we would snowmobile in the parking lot until long after dark.  Our neighbors never cared and even helped us get “un-stuck” on occasion.  We also had a trailer that we would tow behind and try to dump the riders.  This went on every winter for nearly five years.  There were occasions when things did not go so well, like the time I was on the wrong side of the fence practically out on Gillespie Street when a Highway Patrolman pulled up.  I was sure I was in big trouble, but the machine was stuck and I had nowhere to go.  Much to my surprise he got out and helped me lift the machine back on to the correct side of the fence.

The most memorable event took place in 1975 when I was riding one of our older machines.  I was having a great time when at full speed the throttle froze and nothing I could do would stop it.  After a short distance I abandoned ship.  The machine went on without me through the upper parking lot, over the fence and across the street heading east.  My brother pulled up to give me the customary sibling abuse only to see me sitting there and no machine in sight.  I climbed aboard his machine and we headed out to find the missing craft.  It left a clear track for us to follow and about a half mile from the point that I abandoned ship, we found it.  It was sitting on its side still running at full throttle.  Next to it was a six-inch thick pine tree split in half lying on the ground.  The front of the machine was in bad shape but it still ran. As for the tree, its days were over.  We towed the snowmobile home and I set out to craft a real good story as to what happened to my father’s snowmobile.  As any brother would do, he got to my father first and the truth was out.  Surprisingly enough, the truth did set me free.  Those old snowmobiles with the open carburetors were known for freezing up.

We continued our daily adventures in the parking lot until I was a junior in High School at which point many of the new neighbors were less tolerant of the evening noise.  There were occasions when other people would show up with their own snowmobiles and join us.  I still run into old classmates from back then who remind me of how much fun they had snowmobiling across the street from our house.  Those were the days.