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Snowmobiling: Look Out Trail, Here Comes the Queasy Rider

January 26, 2010 - MILLINOCKET -- Individual trees along the trail became indiscernible.

Instead, a blur of brown bark formed in my peripheral vision. With my thumb pressing firmly into the throttle, my snowmobile bolted through the woods like a galloping motorized horse. And I, in the saddle, felt a rush of cold wind diving into the gaps of my loose jacket.

The shuddering of the engine sent vibrations through my boots and all the way up to my knees. It was intense, riding that high-powered machine at the mind-numbing speed of 20 mph.

OK, so I wasn't exactly breaking the sound barrier. But when you're riding a snowmobile for the first time – not sure if you're the master of it or it's the master of you – 20 mph is plenty quick.

I'd come to New England Outdoor Center (NEOC) in Millinocket for a guided three-hour snowmobile tour ($119), both for the scenery and the guidance.

The Twin Pines Campground on Millinocket Lake is a snowmobiler's paradise. Snow-suited riders roamed about the cabins or unloaded gear from trucks and clusters of sleds rested patiently in the parking lot and on the cabin lawns.

Inside the office, we arrived in time to catch the NEOC safety video playing for half a dozen novice snowmobilers. Along with detailing how to add gas and oil, change the belt and start the sled, the video explained the basic hand signals riders use to communicate. Engine noise makes saying, "Good afternoon! Fine weather isn't it? Listen, there are a few more snowmobiles behind me, so heads up" rather difficult on the trail.

The video also comically clarified that the ski mask often worn under a snowmobiler's helmet is called a balaclava – not to be confused with the similarly named Greek pastry.

With our paperwork signed, snow pants and helmets donned and a few snacks grabbed just in case, the four riders in our party headed outside for an introduction to our respective sleds.

Our guide for the jaunt, "trail master" Dan Anderson, pointed out the throttle, the brake and the swell pocket in back to hold our bottles of water. We climbed on, smiled nervously at one another and before anyone could change their mind, we were off.

Anderson led the way with me close behind, Stephanie Stroman and Nicolas Depauw, both of Boston, doubling up behind me and Elizabeth Briggeman of York bringing up the rear.

We motored down the road, clinging to the right shoulder to keep away from passing cars. Maneuvering the snowmobile along the ice-packed street wasn't easy. The two front skis found little to grab and occasionally ignored the direction I was attempting to point them.

A snowbank on the right also had some sort of magnetic power over the nose of the sled, luring it close. But gently lifting my thumb from the throttle quickly slowed my machine and, after some mumbled chastising, I redirected my sled's attention forward.

Had I not been wearing gloves, it would have been hard to discern my knuckles from the snow, as white as they were on account of my handlebar death grip.

Once we'd turned onto the trail, the traction was better, though the sled still shifted perceptibly (and my grip refused to loosen).

The groomed trails in this area spread out like a network of miniature interstates. Traffic signs made note of upcoming stops, sharp turns and intersections.

For a while it seemed we were the only riders on the trail. The whirring of the sled filled my helmet with sound, making me wish the helmets were equipped with short-wave radios. I wanted to shout "woo hoo" to someone other than myself.

Our path dipped and rose amid the congregation of trees, and I caught glimpses of Mount Katahdin. Despite the layer of clouds over our heads, the mountain's peak was lit up by sun, it's top half-frosted by Chef Winter.

As I mused over Nature's work – the stoic trees like soldiers standing guard, the determined creek ushering water ahead, despite the cold – a snowmobile shot past on my left. I startled, shaken from my distraction. A second rider passed from behind, the noise from its engine imperceptible from my own until it had already passed.

This was not a good time to let my thoughts drift.

Instead I kept my sled to the right and took to checking my mirrors, seeing the headlight of Elizabeth's sled hovering behind me like a bright, unblinking eye.

When we came to a stop on a long straightaway – where nearing riders could easily spot us – Anderson checked in to make sure everyone was feeling confident. "These are much harder to steer than I thought they'd be," I remarked. I also had a very clear understanding of how easily a sled can get sidelined if the rider is preoccupied by scenery.

Anderson noted that steering actually becomes easier at faster speeds, but that it's still smart to go slow when you're learning.

Once we'd gotten moving again, a string of snowmobiles approached. The riders lifted their left arms as they neared, signaling with their hands, "Two more behind me," "One more behind me" and "I'm the caboose." I attempted to lift my left hand as well, to likewise gesture that another snowmobile was coming, but the handlebar began to shake as my gloved hand left it. So back my hand went in panic, as though I were mastering a two-wheeled bicycle for the first time.

On one trail, rocks under the snow formed a succession of small moguls. The snowmobiles motored up and over them, our rear ends alternately lifting and falling on the padded seat as though the sleds were jovially bouncing us on their knees. And I couldn't help but laugh.

We eventually made it out to the main road in Baxter State Park. Roads are closed to automobiles in the winter, and their straightness and width were a relief. Without the fear of colliding around a turn or hugging a snowbank, I felt confident increasing my speed just a little. To a whopping 40 mph.

We'd traversed approximately 45 miles of trail. What sun there had been was now nodding off below the tree line and the air grew colder. I regretted not wearing one of those balaclavas. The chill wind found every vulnerable space: down my back, at my neck and even that slender gap between my head and my helmet.

But before the changing temperature could dampen the excursion, we found ourselves steering back into Twin Pines Campground. Anderson refueled our sleds and as a staffer drove them off, I waved goodbye to my winter chariot. It was an obstinate contraption, but I think we'd grown to respect one another. Although the sneaky devil made off with my water.

The day had ended for us, but NEOC manager Shorey Ewing noted how some folks take the morning guided tour from 9 a.m. to noon and then head out on their own in the afternoon. There are also full-day tours, moose antler shed and wildlife tours and private snowmobile guide options. Over February break, the outdoor center will be offering guided tours every two hours for $59 per person. It's an ideal way for novices to try the sport – low cost, short time commitment. But chances are, at the end of the tour, you'll think two hours was too dang short.

SHANNON BRYAN / TRAIL & ERROR, Portland Press Herald, January 24, 2010


Lakes: Millinocket Lake
Regions: Katahdin


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