For Christmas—I'm still flabbergasted—my wife surprised me with a GD snowmobile! I literally bawled. It's a dream come true.
It's used. It's not fancy. It has duct-tape on the seat. It's the skidoo brand, and yellow, but I forget the number, or whatever? My son explained it all but, shrug, unlike him, I can't seem to store vehicle information in my brain. Anyway, it's perfect.
This particular dream come true was never expected to happen. Growing up in rural Saskatchewan, we had old "putt-putt" snowmobiles which my Dad mostly obtained through bartering over unpaid mechanics bills. This coupled with 1970s-style adult supervision—aka absolutely none—my childhood obsession was born. (Read here for an example of no supervision whatsoever style snowmobiling.) Later, my Dad gave my young son a miniature snowmobile which kickstarted his obsession, and now he has his own. Sure, we borrowed snowmobiles from family members over the years and made some great memories, yet own one? That seemed like a complete luxury; I could never seem to justify spending the money (or even have the cash). Admittedly, my vibe is 100% cheap bastard. (My wife's vibe is 100% not.)
Bitterly cold in Alberta this December/January, my son and I finally spent last Saturday zipping along the local river up and down the trails and hills and through the thick spruce trees and swamps. (Insert contented sigh here.) Afterwards, my son and I were talking.
I asked him, "What does snowmobiling feel like for you?"
"Freedom. Happiness. How would you describe it?"
I had not stopped smiling the entire trip; I thought back to the constant elevation changes, squeezing through narrow tree-lined trails, getting stuck on the side of a hill that felt like about 110 degrees (my son knew what to do), admiring my son's intentional launch stunts, and likewise all my unintentional launches...I replied,
"In the best possible way, it feels like being a ball gently tossed back and forth, but you're not just the ball, you're also the person tossing."
We laughed, both recognizing the delightful chaos. And although my description was a bit silly, I later checked my iPhone's health app; despite little walking during our trip, my app indicated I had climbed 34 floors.
Friends, I wish for you all a dream come true (and a snowmobile ride here and there), plus, most importantly, a son or daughter or anyone really who loves what you love.
4 comments:
That's great! I'm happy for you! Enjoy your snowmobile! And yes, I too remember "1970s-style adult supervision, aka absolutely none" LOL!
My middle son often goes up to the mountains with his, which kinda scares the bejezzus out of me. You have however given me an inkling to fire up my snowmobile with duct-tape on the seat and go for a rip.
Great story - I so agree on having someone in your life who loves the same thing you love. What a wonderful gift from your wife. And yes, I do remember the lack of supervision when my brother and I used my dad's snowmobile. We were never far from the house, but pulling each other on a toboggan behind the snowmobile was probably not the brightest thing to do, although my brother was four years older than I was so maybe that counted as semi-supervision?
Ah, well done to your wife to give you the gift of nostalgia, camaraderie with your son and a goofy grin throughout it all! Sounds like so much fun.
And an apology for never catching your lovely comments on my blog until weeks after the fact. Blogger no longer emails them to me despite all kinds of attempts to fix the glitch, so I stumble across - but always appreciate - them.
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