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Memories
Snow Much Fun
By Sally Amspaugh
More years ago than I care to count snowmobiling in Michigan was a
favorite of sport for Jane and Clyde Stump, Jim and Karen Hummel,
Dennis and Connie Davison, my husband Larry and myself.
The early years we would make the trip to Indian River where we camped
out at the Indian Trails Motel. The first year was spent in three
bedroom house trailers and we did our own cooking. By popular vote (all
girls) it was decided to move to more (no cooking!), cook friendly
accommodations.
Many years we would start the trip at ten p.m. after attending a
basketball game played by one or another of our sons. Seemed those were
the years when we always encountered lots of snow and high winds to
make for interesting night travel.
Once upon a trip it was decided, by one of our snow navigators, (not
female) as we headed for the Indian River area, to jump over to
interstate 75 from 27 and to go through Detroit to miss Lansing. Now I
might not be the sparkliest flake in the blizzard but I think we went a
few miles out of the way? Anyway -- we arrived – eventually.
And so the saga begins----
Va-room. Va-room. Oh what is that noise??
The clock says six a.m.
A.M.???
Must be some mistake, I think I am on vacation?
As I duck back under my pillow---
Va-room Va-room.
It’s so toasty and warm in my blankets. As I turn to snuggle up to my
hubby I discover he has shrunk into a pillow. No-no - that’s just his
pillow not him! There it goes again.
Va-room-purr, va-room purr . What the?? Aha, if it purrs it must be a
cat? Who is waking the cat?
As the fog clears I remember -- it is a cat — my Arctic Cat that must
mean – YES!! It’s Michigan and sledding time. And just a few
degrees below zero!! With the dryer climate in Michigan it feels much
warmer. Did I say warmer? Well warmer than the 35 below that we
experienced last trip!!
I hope my handlebar warmers have been engaged.
Getting dressed requires some extra time and manipulation, three layers
of clothing under a snowmobile suit requires some thought. All must be
in the proper order as the day becomes warmer, and peeling layers is
easier if planned ahead according to what will fit in the boot on the
back of your sled.
After suiting up comes breakfast at The Coach House Restaurant though
there is hardly room under all those clothes. And the coffee that
sounds so good right now will have to be disposed of in a couple of
hours, on the trail forty miles from civilization. Maybe better skip
that, the cold air will wake us all soon enough.
We pack a bottle of water and some snacks. When traveling with men you
never know where you might be headed. The problem, in short, is neither
do they –and like they would ask anyway- there is no place to get
directions in the wilds. So getting “found” sometimes consumes a
considerable amount of daylight and lunch being eaten at bedtime.
But right now I am ready to hit the trails to a whole lot of fun. The
whole motel is now buzzing with activity except for the nonsledders
wishing we would leave so they can resume sleeping.
It’s really quite beautiful as we head out to the ride. We normally
travel in single file and being in line near the back while it is still
dark I get to enjoy the moving lights from all the sleds ahead. The red
and white lights reflect and bounce randomly on the freshly fallen snow
from the night before.
Some of the trails produce an interesting obstacle course while others
are smooth and peaceful. There are groomed trails in lots of areas but
I am fortunate to ride with a posse of snow mavericks who prefer to
blaze their own trails. Now that can be interesting or frightening and
sometimes both at once.
Exploring near the Pigeon River area we were privileged to stop and
watch a herd of elk marching through snow up to their bellies while
debarking trees as high as they can reach. They are beautiful and quite
graceful with dark brown silky coats in contrast to pure white snow.
Stark black leafless trees still provide nourishment for many species
of wildlife. The bucks sport an intimidating large rack. Later that
week a local television station telecast a nature documentary featuring
the only herd of elk in that area with information that the herd
resided in a wildlife preserve, protected, where it was illegal to
trespass, WHOOPS, guess no one saw that sign!!
Riding through a forest of majestic tall pines in a heavy snowfall is
an experience never forgotten. It’s like riding through clouds of white
and green cotton candy. A pair of cardinals completed this perfect
Terry Redin light bouncing painting.
On sunny days the trees are covered with diamond fairy dust dancing on
the lush jade green of the trees. Getting lost in there was always a
concern of mine-again I knew there was no place for the LADIES to stop
and ask directions. Grudgingly I must admit the male snow posse always
managed to find the pine grove exit sign.
Locating restaurants in the small hamlets along the trails always
proved a challenge. Bars were the only eating establishments for miles,
and never had a glass of milk my beverage of choice. We soon learned
that chili was NOT a soup in Michigan. After several requests from our
group for chili soup the exasperated waitress finally shouted, “do you
people want chili or soup?” We all ordered a ham sandwich and fries!!
She got a big tip just for putting up with us – and — for bringing my
glass of milk!
Back in Indian River after a full day of riding on Fridays all would
pile into the cozy warm van and head east to Alanson to Bob’s Place for
an all you can eat fish fry and salad bar, then polish the whole thing
off with strawberry shortcake. Good thing riding the sleds burned lots
of calories, well maybe not the riding but digging out bogged down
sleds in the fluffy white stuff could get pretty grueling. The snow
posse always helped the damsels in distress.
Another favorite recovery place was Vivio’s THE ONLY PLACE to eat
pizza, according to our gang, in Indian River. I still get an
occasional whiff of that heavenly aroma when the wind is from the north!
Some small towns I remember are -- Wolverine, Alanson, Epsilon,
Clarion, and many others that evade my memory.
Walloon Lake sported a deserted ski slope just for our taking. That is
one of the smoothest places to ride hills and dip suddenly into
valleys. Tummy flips are common on the ride. WHOOPS. Again I guess no
one saw the sign until we were leaving. The posse I ride with can also
turn into outlaws at the drop of a helmet when
circumstances required such action.
We replaced broken parts with trips to Spanky’s Wholesale Shop, and
bought gas wherever it could be found. No one wanted to run out of fuel
and be at the mercy of the sled that pulled you back. It was very
difficult to steer while in tow especially with one of the posse at the
other end of the rope. A hair-raising experience! I’ve watched but
never been the victim. It became a contest to see who had the most
fuel-efficient machine and every little boy got delight in winning that
game.Um- guess the difference between men and boys really is the price
of their toys!
In short -- I love Indian River, Michigan and the snow great memories.
Next time we will head for the Upper Peninsula to Copper Harbor, the
Tahquamenon Falls, twin cities of Houghton and Hancock, Hulbert, the
eastern part of Hiawatha National Forest region, Calumet, Copper Harbor
and the copper mines, and other places north.
Till then, hope you have snow much fun.
In
Memoriam… Sally Amspaugh was one of our original Senior Scribes, and
was Secretary of the Senior Scribes Scholarship Fund. She passed away
July 25, 2011
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