Snowmobile

Merry Christmas. This isn't a holiday memory, but it is associated with winter. 

We have a cousin in the Oklahoma Panhandle who had all the toys. He probably thought the same about us. During the winter, he played as hard as he had worked all spring, summer, and fall on his farm. 

In the late 1970's, he and his dad owned a set of snowmobiles, a Harley Davidson and a John Deere model. The chances of snow weren't all that dependable in their locale, but they watched the weather reports and traveled to the white stuff if it wasn't too far away.

That is how they showed up at our farm after we were blessed with heavy snowfall. The pasture provided well over one hundred unobstructed acres in which to play if we stayed away from the pond and windmill. The adventurous could catch some air on a couple of small hills. None of us had the proper clothing, but we weren't far from the house if we got too cold or wet. 

To me, the snowmobiles looked like a motorcycle on skis. I never liked riding behind my husband on his Honda. He said I didn't know how to move with the bike. Sitting on the ground on skis, a snowmobile looked more stable, and I had fun sitting behind him, riding around the pasture on the Harley. 

In their conversations about the merits of the John Deere over the Harley, I remember that the guys said the John Deere was faster. In their opinion, the Harley was overweight and underpowered, but it would still get up to 40 mph. I thought that was an excellent benefit since to me it meant the Harley wouldn't get any crazy ideas like doing an unanticipated, motorized ski jump. 

However, it did demonstrate its shortcomings when we topped a hill and found a deep snowdrift. We broke through the crust, and the Harley sank like a skater falling through the ice on a pond. I could see why it wouldn't float on top of five or six feet of loose snow, but I didn't understand why it lost momentum and wouldn't keep going once there were only a few inches of snow between it and the ground. Maybe it had something to do with the skis. As I've mentioned before, mechanical devices confound me. Anyway, it lost traction. We got off and stomped the snow down around the machine. My husband said we'd have better luck getting it out of the drift if he walked along beside it running the controls while I pushed. In other words, we needed to lighten the load and get out of the drift.

It sounded like a reasonable suggestion since I didn't know the brake from the throttle, or how to put it in gear. I was only along for the ride. We got into position. I placed my hands at the back of the seat and got ready to push. He restarted the machine and nudged the throttle. No luck.

He explained I was going to have to push harder, so I dug my cold, wet feet into the packed snow like I was a racer in starting blocks and leaned into the seat. He put it in gear again and twisted the throttle. Before I could jump out of the way, the track (oh, that's what makes it go!) plastered me head to toe with half a foot of snow. I looked like the front side of a snowman.

He pretended to be surprised, but later admitted he wanted to roll in the snow laughing. Trying to defend himself, he said I should have intuitively known how snowmobiles move on snow. I didn't see any signs that warned of rear discharge. He said I looked as good in white snow as I did walking down the church aisle in my wedding dress. He said a lot of outrageous lies trying to calm my ire. 

After that, I don't recall what it took to get the Harley out of the drift. I wasn't speaking to him. I know I didn't 'push' it again. He jokes that I was so steamed up, my clothes were dry and warm when we got to the house.

Once there, the real ribbing began. He was hailed as a genius for managing to appear innocent while getting me into such a predicament. My name and the word gullible were linked quite a few times. To this day he claims he was gallantly protecting me from being run over by the snowmobile. 

Guess What?  That was the last time I rode one. And we are still married.

Rule 36

My daughter and her fiance decided to get married in Estes Park, Colorado with the famous Stanley Hotel as the venue. Talk about shopping around for a good deal.  Off season discounts rule!  They got married on a Thursday in March. We lucked out, and it didn't snow. The reduced rates spread to cakes, flowers, meals, and lodging. It was cheaper for both families to trek to Colorado than stay home.

The families met in Estes and had a wonderful time exploring the mountain park, shopping, and eating. If you visit, don't miss the glass blowers.











They had a small, intimate ceremony in the Music Room with immediate family and a few close college friends. Their friends were all photography majors and they as well as my husband were bristling with lenses. There was no lack of great pictures. Most couples arrange the room so the bride and groom stand in front of the windows and the audience can look out at the mountains. We turned the furniture sideways and made an altar out of the alcove where the grand piano sits.

Despite the fact friends and family surrounded her, my daughter guarded the key to their room with her life, and only let one trusted gff hold it.

At the supper, the choices were some kind of beef steak and pecan crusted salmon. You must order the salmon if you go to the Stanley.

During the reception, my new son-in-law's brother accompanied himself on the piano and sang a song he wrote. The matron of honor roasted my son, her cousin, instead of toasting the bride and groom. My mom said she felt a little queasy and asked the bartender for some soda crackers to settle her stomach.

We had the room rented until 11:00 P.M.  The management gave us a fifteen minute warning, then kicked us out. The next morning, the newlyweds went around visiting with everyone before taking off on their honeymoon. For a blushing bride, my daughter was in a foul humor.

"Who crackered our bed?"

No one admitted it. Since they had the room next to #217, the ghost room, someone joked it was a supernatural event. I said crackers in the sheets were nothing compared to being in a four-car pileup on your honeymoon. (See my July 30 post.) After they left, my mother confided that she had done it.

Get outta here!

No one told the newlyweds. Months later, a cousin just happened to mention the incident in their hearing.

Rule 36. Sometimes, when you least expect it, when you don't even see it coming, Grandma will prank you.


References:
Mouth-blown glass