We left Carcajou Lodge around 9 bells this morning. Temps must have been in the mid teens, with light flurries flying down. Video MIke did his morning routine, and filmed us as we departed down the trail. Hum drum way to start the day.
Until we got to the 10 mile marker. The trails were iced over underneath the light snow that had fallen, and the corners were sheets of ice. No big deal, we have studded tracks and good carbides. Then I came into a turn the same way i've come into the last thousand, and my sled was headed in the right direction of the turning trail but I was still sliding to the ourside edge of the trail. No biggies, the 18" tall snow bank along the trail will stop me. POOF, blew right thru the turn sideways and stuck on a 45 degree angle in the soft powder off the trail. My wingman, RS, comes over to assist, because we are the last 2 in line, and god forbid would anybody in front of us contemplate using those mirrors attached to their windshields and stop and come back and be of assistance.
So i grabbed the front ski, he pushed the throttle, and we ALMOST got my Ski Doo back on flat ground. But our legs were hung up in the soft snow, and we couldn't move along with the sled fast enough. And now it was turned all the way over, back off the trail in the 4' deep soft snow along the trail.
Thankfully, one genius looked in their rearview mirrors and saw we weren't there. Big Al, our donkey, the Original Canadian Cowboy, was there to assist. But wait, he need's to get a picture first. So, track back in the manufacturer's recommended position, we were off to catch the pack.
At this point, the snow flurries had turned to near white out conditions. The snow was accumulating pretty good. There was lots of snow dust in the air. A couple blown turns, which fortunately had wide run offs, were completed (RS & I had one real good one). Pretty uneventful, and we showed up for lunch at an appropriate time, around 1pm.
Our day's tend to go to hell after lunch. Today was no exception. Actually we probably set a new record on how fast we made a wrong turn. 100 meters to be exact. Went right, down into a cul-de-sac, turned around, went back to where turned right, and then caught our trail.
Things were pretty smoother from there. Still white out conditions. Except for Big Al. Around the 80 mile mark, riding down a snow covered road, attempting to catch the trail again on the left, Big Al power brakes his Ski Doo, spins side ways, and then over. Another sled toes in the air. Metro Dave helped him put it back to the manufacturer's recommended position, and off we went.
Until we stopped for gas at the 105 mile mark. Leaving back on the trail after fueling, we naturally took another wrong turn. After about 12 miles, Trail Boss Jamie couldn't take it any more and shot to the front to voice his opinion with our faithful leaders Ole and Craig. They concurred. Let's flip flop back and follow the suggested Garmin Route.
As we were finishing our 170 mile ride (that was guestimated at 140) the last 20 miles was freezing mist. Many, myself included, tolerated frozen helmet shields, and stopped periodically to rub our our warm hand over the shield to melt the frozen H2O, and then use our glove's built in finger blade to wipe it clean. Pain in the arse, truthfully, but what are you going to do?
It's probably time to introduce you to the Darkside's latest victim. Metro Dave Josselyn. We met Metro back in 2010 when we were on the Soo to Alaska ride. When we ran out of snow in Alberta, we trailered up and drove 2.5 days to Brooks Lake Wyoming. Metro was/is a guide there. We hit it off with him, and every year when we go back to Brooks Lake, we always make sure he is there to guide us for the mountain riding. Dave has always ridiculed us "Trail" riders. But now that he has become entangled in a sordid affair with our own Tina Bear, Big Booty Moody Judy, he lowered himself to a lowly trail rider, and is on his first saddlebag ride with his lady love. Dave started riding when he was around 5 years old, the only boy out of 5 kids. He did ride trails around Minnesota growing up, so he shouldn't hate so hard. His father, Bob, was a Polaris dealer in Pine Island, and took Dave to Wyoming to mountain ride when he was around his mid-late teens. David is a great young man that we enjoy his company, and are glad he finally relented, and is suffering along our saddlebag ride through Quebec.
It's time for dinner, and this place we are at is out of wine AND vodka.
Cheers,
Stick