• November 2008
• October 2008
• September 2008

As a kid, I remember my great-grandfather, Jake, talking about the Model T Ford he rode in during his youth. Although they were one of the most reliable cars available at the time, they were hardly as bulletproof as the cars we drive today. The old machines broke often and most drivers had to be mechanically inclined to survive a trip. I remember him telling me that replacement parts were available at just about every corner store. Few drivers ventured very far from town. Out of state trips were only taken by the adventurous-types, and cross-country trips were front-page news. My grandfather didn’t tell many stories, but I do recall him talking about fixing the car on the side of the road. He smiled when telling the story, as if the mechanical interruptions were more pleasurable than painful. Clearly, his memory brought back feelings of adventure, something that was part of early motoring.

That sort of reminds me of snowmobiling. Yes, modern sleds are loaded with whiz-bang tech that can keep ‘em running for 10,000 miles, but the reality is that they tend to break down more often than cars do. A lot of this can be attributed to harsh conditions: sub-zero temps, rough trail, and hard riders. Truth is, they usually give up on the trail, not in the parking lot. I’ve had more than my fair share of those moments over the years and don’t necessarily look back on all of them in a negative way. I’m not sadistic and I certainly would rather ride than wrench, but the fact is, anything can happen when you’re way-out in the woods. That’s part of the excitement. Getting lost, discovering a breathtaking vista, running out of gas, reaching full-Zen on a fresh trail, even blowing a belt on a big lake. I’m lost at putting my feelings into words, but it’s like climbing Everest on a micro-scale - you’re not 100% sure if you will reach your destination or have to head back to base camp, but there’s only one way to find out. Even if you don’t peak, it’s still a complete rush.

My first sleds were total junkers and I quickly learned that a complete set of Craftsman tools were a necessity. (The tools were actually worth more than the sleds). The chintzy Play-Skool screwdrivers and wrenches that come with sleds are only good for throwing in the woods when they let you down, which they are guaranteed to do when you need them most. I’ll admit that I probably carry too many tools and have had more than a few fellow snowmobilers chuckle at the “roll-away” tool chest that resides in the depths of my sled’s trunk. On the other hand, many of these same “fellows” have had their sleds crap-out on the trail, at which point they realized that they need a 8mm hex or a 3/8 extension and have neither. Last season the tools saved more than one person’s bacon. Some repairs were simple and others more complex. Curiously, the repairs were all fun. Nothing brings a group of sledders together faster than a trailside wrench-fest. Everyone wants in on the action. Heck, I have a video of no less than seven guys all working on a single sled, just to fix a broken ski runner! Think about that for a moment. It’s a one-person job on a bad day in the garage, but everyone wants a piece of the action when it’s on the trail. It’s part of the adventure, something that brought us together, something that we will never forget. Something to bring up next winter when we want to bust chops on a “fellow” rider. By the way, we not only needed a socket wrench but also a set of Vise grips. The Play Skool tools stayed in the toy box.

Dan Gould
President