I welcome the opportunity to take people snowmobiling, so I persuaded my cottage neighbours to accompany me for a weekend getaway. Although they owned sleds and trailers, my friends were “lapsed snowmobilers” — they used to go for day rides, but none recently. And they had never embarked on a snowmobile getaway.

The preparations took several weeks. Sending the DART Team overseas would have been faster. Unused sleds had to be serviced. Trailers had to be dug out, cleaned off and greased. Snowmobile gear reassembled from scattered locations. Doubters reassured. Reservations made. Tour planning completed. I had even made arrangements to board my two dogs en route.

Finally, we were ready to roll. We had assembled the sled and trailers the day before. By the time loading was accomplished, several participants were almost too worn out to go. But my promises of a masseuse at the resort lured them on.

Our great expedition would start with three hours of trailering to our five star resort. I kept my fingers crossed that the weather would cooperate. Usually this means its not actually raining or melting. For my group of novices, it also meant not being too cold, too overcast or too windy — a very tall order from Mother Nature!

At 8 AM sharp, I was ready. Everyone else was busy cramming the tow vehicles with enough personal paraphernalia for a year away from home. I wondered if the objective was to eliminate all seating room, so no one would have to go.

Our ragtag convoy finally departed at 8:45. I’ll admit that everyone seemed eager enough now that new adventures were imminent. In fact, the first one was right around the corner…

Five minutes out, a trailer tire blew. Better to get an old tire out of the way early, I thought. The guys started unloading sleds to install a spare; the women walked back to the cottage to make coffee. Meanwhile, I called ahead to the local Canadian Tire to reserve a spare spare.

An hour later, we were mobile again. After 45 minutes, we arrived at the boarding kennel. Our parade filled their parking lot, like a caravan of gypsies. I asked everyone to do an inspection of our equipment while I checked in the dogs. Ten minutes later, with assurances that we would be back to pick them up two days hence, I exited the kennel

The parking lot looked like a flea market. Sleds, trailers and tow vehicles were helter-skelter every which way. Several machines were unloaded. People were standing around. Passersby were gaping. Worse, jacks were out and tires were coming off, where two more had gone flat in my absence.

Someone had already been dispatched to buy more spares. I doubted there would be enough left for our entire trip at the current rate of destruction. Judging from the despondent faces around me, my companions didn’t have enough left either.

So with my tail tucked firmly between my legs, I marched back into the kennel and announced: “We’re back!” And thus ended what was undoubtedly the briefest boarding stay and shortest snowmobile trip on record — in fact, we were back at the cottage for lunch!

After years of snowmobiling, I can laugh at even the worst experiences. I recall snowmobiling near a popular ski resort in the mountains. Our guide worked for a local tour and sled rental company catering mainly to novices, primarily skiers looking for a new adventure. The tours followed a groomed logging road to a play area in a large, open meadow, with no trees or rocks, just oodles of deep powder.

It looked to me like a very safe place for beginners to play, yet each of the new rental sleds had suffered serious dings, bends and cracks. “With nothing for renters to hit but snow, how do your sleds get damaged?” I asked. Our guide replied that when each new group arrives at the meadow to play, they inevitably do two things: run into each other and get stuck, hitting the throttle while the sled digs itself a burial hole. Apparently, the guides spend all of their time either separating collided sleds or hitting kill switches before excavations start. Maybe leaving them stuck would reduce collisions!

Another favorite memory is simultaneously trying a prototype, pre-studded track and a new aftermarket suspension. We were far from home when my engine warning light came on. A mismatched combination of studs and suspension had holed my tunnel heat exchanger, allowing coolant to escape. We towed my sled back on a Krazy Karpet. Like dog paws slipping on a vinyl floor, the back end of my machine careened from side to side while I tried to steer a straight line on that groomed trail. Two hours of terror later, we found a country store. I figured buying extra antifreeze to top up my coolant might enable me to ride my sled back — except none was available!

Just as I had resigned myself to resumed towing, I noticed a large display of window washer fluid and bought 12 jugs, tying them to every sled. Three hours later, we made it home, after refilling the reservoir countless times and consuming all but a half jug of washer fluid. I didn’t even get a chance to clean my windshield!

When the Great Ice Storm hit the northeast, we awoke to check our sleds and slid halfway across the parking lot on glare ice. Crawling on hands and knees, we made it to the ice sculptures that used to be our sleds. At almost 1 1/2” thick, the ice had to be cracked with a hammer and brute force before prying it off. Even so, we had to lay over for a day because the going was too treacherous.

Two days later, we were trailering home, still blissfully ignorant about the true extent of the ice storm damage. Except for emergency vehicles and us, the roads were empty, with most exits were blocked with stranded vehicles or impassible snow banks.

The power was out, including for gas pumps. Consequently, countless cars were abandoned on the roadside, but we made it, thanks to a siphon hose, an empty jerry can and the fuel remaining in our snowmobiles. Later we found out that highways were actually closed as part of a disaster plan. It pays to have emergency gear on board, just in case! 

Before I started snowmobiling, I learned the “rules of the road”. It wasn’t until much later that I realized another whole set of rules exists that only experience can teach. These principles aren’t written down anywhere, but they’re as immutable as running out of gas if you don’t fill up and there are many more than 10. Fooled ya!

1.     No matter how smooth the trail has been, it will suddenly become bumpy after lunch. I won’t have any Rolaids.

2.     If there have been any signs for gas, there won’t be one marking that last critical turn-off to the station. Inevitably, I will be very low on fuel when I drive by.

3.     If I do find the gas station, the surface around the pumps will be plowed down to the asphalt. Then I’ll have to get off my sled to move the air hose that signals a car’s arrival.

4.     While gassing up, cars will park around me so I have to physically move my sled to leave. 

5.     If I backtrack on a long, unmarked stretch of trail because I haven’t seen any marker for miles and am unsure if it’s the right trail, the proper sign will inevitably be just around the next corner after where I turned.  I will discover it only after riding all the way back to the last intersection, turning around again and coming all the way back. Now I will really need gas.

6.     I won’t see any other riders all day, but at a sharp corner, I’ll suddenly meet a parade of oncoming sleds. They will mostly be taking their half of the trail from the middle. 

7.     After a long, hard day when I most need it, the hot tub will be broken that night. It is the reason I booked this hotel in the first place.

8.     On cold days, when I’m especially looking forward to hot soup for lunch, the soup of the day will be a kind I don’t like. Or it will be luke-warm.

9.     Whenever I finally decide to ask someone else where I am, that person won’t have a clue about the local trails. That will make two of us.

10.  Even on the calmest day, if I need to consult my trail map, a high wind will start to blow.

11.  I won’t need to use the facilities unless there aren’t any.

12.  It will rain the one day that I’m not wearing my FXR waterproof snowmobile suit.

13.  I’ll arrive in town by snowmobile immediately after the street I must follow has been ploughed.

14.  If I don’t spread my gear to dry each night, I’ll be cold and sorry the next day.

15.  When coming to a point where the trail ahead is plowed bare, there will never be a sign saying how far the snowless section extends. Similarly, if the trail detours onto a paved road, a sign will rarely be in place that says how far I have to ride on pavement to pick it up again.

16.  If there is a logging truck anywhere nearby, I will meet it, usually at the most inconvenient place. Ditto for groomers.

17.  If I have to ride along the shoulder of a deserted road or highway, a large tractor trailer will appear to spray me with slush.

18.  When I arrive in a town, I will be chased by a barking dog. Or the whole pack. The trail will usually go by the dump.

19.  I will know when a small town isn’t snowmobile-friendly, if folks in the restaurant look at me as if I’m an alien. Or maybe it’s my helmet head.

20.  The guys with the hottest sleds will ride bumper to bumper at high speed.

21.  On each ride, I will see one hole too late, bottoming out to compress my spine like an accordion.

22.  When riding with a smoker, it will take at least ten minutes to get going again any time I hesitate at a corner or otherwise appear to be slowing down.

The 1st Ontario Snow-cial Ride took place Tuesday, Feb. 21 and Wednesday, Feb. 22 at Muskoka’s premier JW Marriott Rosseau Resort – and I guess Mother Nature was afraid to get bad press, because it snowed most of the time! Or maybe she rented it from Muskoka Sports & Recreation. We rode local MSR trails on Tuesday and then sampled Almaguin trails Wednesday. It snowed all day!

The Ontariol Snow-cial Ride brought together a bunch of guys who really live and breath snowmobiling - Claude Aumont, Mr.Snowmobiling for Ontario tourism; John Arkwright, touring editor from Supertrax International Magazine; Jeff McGirr, extreme sledder for Lucrestyle Productions; Josh Grills, social networking guru from the Ontario Federation of Snowmobile Clubs; and the popular “Groomer Guy” Luc Levesque from Dubreuilville. And of course, yours truly Craig Nicholson, The Intrepid Snowmobiler. Motorcycle maven Mike Jacobs had his debut ride on a sled without hitting a tree! Video thanks to snowmobile.com and photos by Virgil Knapp.

It’s rare that such a group of avid riders can coordinate their busy winter schedules to be at the same time and place, so it speaks to the importance each of us places on working together to promote Ontario sledding. Check out all of our sites for more about the Ontario Snow-cial Ride and if you’re into sledding and social media, stay tuned for the 2nd Ontario Snow-cial Ride next February!

I remember the day I almost hit a groomer. I‘d come around a blind corner and there it was, looming over me, filling the trail. Wide-eyed, we both hit the binders, and my sled came to an abrupt stop as the skis kissed the groomer’s blade. I looked up into the cab, feeling small and vulnerable before that machine’s great bulk.

Now here I was again, being dwarfed by a piece of grooming equipment. Except this time, my hope was to enter it through the door, not the windshield. Jim, the operator, was holding it open so I could join him that night. I wanted to see what it was really like to groom a trail.

Within minutes the friendly lights of town succumbed to an all-pervading darkness that fell from the sky as if painted with a tar brush. The Man on the Moon must have been on vacation because the only illumination was the groomer’s lights, cutting a swath in the inky blackness. It was eerie knowing that we were surrounded by wilderness, but only able to see the scantly lit limbs abutting the trail. And the white carpet ahead, moonscaped by moguls, bumps and divots.

Fortunately, our cab was cozy, although my passenger jump seat hardly compared to Jim’s ergonomic throne. Enough heat blasted through that Jim opened a side vent for a little fresh air. The engine noise notched up a few decibels, but we could still chat. The controls for steering, and working the blade and drag were laid out around him like a casino’s black jack table. He worked these with precise, deft manoeuvres, an integrated ballet of motion geared to lay out a table top of reworked snow out the back.

Funny thing about grooming: unless there’s snow to plough up front, most of the action takes place behind, where the multiple drag blades cut off the peaks, churning the snow to the pan where it’s flattened and packed into a new surface. Hopefully, it will lie there untouched for 6 to 10 hours while it hardens in a metamorphosis much like what happens when the kids’ snowman sits overnight. With any luck, it will take that long to melt too!

Unless there’s a problem, the passenger has nothing to do in a groomer except keep the operator company. I watched Jim’s eyes flitting back and forth constantly, from the trail ahead to the rear view mirrors, to frequent glances over his shoulder to ”check on the product”. Because the terrain was completely irregular, Jim was always shifting this or adjusting that to ensure a level cut that didn’t skin the hill tops or dump too much in the holes. He said that this slow, steady pace gave the drag time to do its work, whereas too fast caused skipping that would leave nearly invisible ripples that soon morph into moguls.

I was glad he knew the trail well. The thought of driving into that black void ahead would have been frightening otherwise. Even so, I marvelled at his anticipation of the many corners, hills and valleys we traversed that night. The monotonous rumble of the diesel became soothing after a while and I had trouble staying awake. Jim must have seen me nodding off, because he stopped, announcing it was time for a stretch.

We both stepped out onto the huge rubber tracks whose spongy give under my feet reminded me of walking on a floating dock. I’d forgotten how nippy it was outside. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility of breaking down or getting stuck out here. I hoped his two-way radio worked. And that someone was awake at the other end.

We still had many hours left in this grooming run. Jim told me that 8 to 10 hours at a time is his preference, but when he fills in for one of his buddies occasionally, it can mean a 22-hour marathon that I didn’t even want to think about. After my first four hours, all my thoughts were focused on my warm, soft bed where I’d dream of riding smooth, smooth trails. 

If I had to choose only one magic tool to carry while snowmobiling, it would be duct tape. Duct tape can get you through many emergencies and doesn’t require any other tools. You can be all thumbs, and still be an expert duct taper. It’s tough to inadvertently injure yourself using duct tape. And using today’s vibrantly coloured duct tape, I don’t need to be dreary and can match my sled too. If duct tape has one major downfall for snowmobiling, it’s that cold can make it less sticky, so warm it up before using.

Duct tape demonstrates its benefits to me over and over again. One companion somehow tore up the seat of her black snow pants. Repairs were affected with strips of black tape. She rode the rest of the tour without frostbiting her butt.

When I snowmobiled in the Arctic. Icy winds would start frostbite on any exposed flesh.  Judiciously applied to nose, cheeks and temples each morning, duct tape provided a protective barrier. But be careful: local restaurants and stores may think it’s a hold-up if you forget to remove the tape! (Tip: The best way to peel it off is under a hot shower.)

I’ve used duct tape in many other ways. It’s a great way to seal pant and wrist cuffs against snow incursion while playing in powder. I’ve used it to secure electric visor and helmet communicator wires in place. On one tour, duct tape held my jacket together when the zipper broke. On another, I used it to hold a handle bar bag in place after the strap tore off. I’ve even captured that geek look when I held two broken halves of my glasses together at the nosepiece with duct tape. At least it wasn’t white.

Duct tape can be an excellent bandage or immobilizer for a splint. It can cover a blister or wrap a twisted ankle. Two pieces across the lens of glasses, leaving a narrow strip for seeing, can help prevent snow blindness. 

Under the hood, duct tape can hold survival items in place. I use it to reinforce the corners of transported oil containers and secure their tops from leaking. It’s also useful for many minor repairs and to prevent wires from chaffing. I’ve used it to block hood vents in deep powder, to hold a hood together and to repair a windshield. And if worst comes to worst, it can hold your luggage in place or repair a ripped bag.

Some manufacturers call it duct tape, others duck tape. I don’t know why. I’ve never used it to tape either a duct or a duck, but it will continue to be the most essential part of my snowmobiling kit.