Breaking Trail into a New Year

From the first time my dad plopped me down on the seat of a snowmobile, I was hooked. I love the way the engine revs to life with the pull of the cord. I love the sweet aroma of two-stroke billowing out from underneath the sled and wafting into my nostrils. I love how the sled tips and drifts through the snow as I shift the weight of my boots on the iced-over running boards. I love hearing the BRAAAAAAP sound of another rider’s sled pierce the silence haloing the mountains. 

 

But most of all, I love the bottomless drifts of twinkling snow—untouched and majestic—that you only find by climbing switchback roads and daring to venture through the trees. 

You know how surfers wait all day for that perfect wave to set up? Sledders ride all day to find that untouched meadow or hillside that they can carve up with their skiis and tracks. Last Christmas I bought my boyfriend, also an avid snowmobiler, a T-shirt that said “I came. I saw. I ruined the pretty snow.” We sledders do love the pretty snow. But the fun of ruining it is even better.

Last weekend, my dad, boyfriend, another buddy and I unloaded our sleds near Rimini and took off up the trail in search of powder. We found several play areas along the way, but it wasn’t until the end of the day that we hit white gold. 

We came upon a meadow covered in about three feet of fluffy powder without even the slightest dent of a rabbit’s paw print on its surface. The four of us paused for a few seconds to take in the wondrous site as the excitement mounted inside us. Once the moment passed, we squeezed our throttles and barreled out into the snow like kids into the present pile under the tree on Christmas morning. I am only beginning to learn how to carve through the snow and tip my sled up on its side, but in deep powder like that, it’s not hard. The snow cradles the sled as you move throughout it; all you have to do is hold on.  I completely rolled the sled over a few times and was thrown head first into the snow, but I loved the cold softness of it. In only a few minutes, we had crisscrossed up the previously pristine meadow of white. The hoods of our sleds, the running boards, and even parts of our jackets and helmets were dusted with snow.

We decided to take a different trail back to the trucks and trailers, which led us to my favorite part of the day: breaking trail.

On the way back, we came upon a section of trail that barely looked like a trail at all. The snow was virgin and perfect with evergreen trees flanking its sides to mark its course ahead. The boys pulled to the side to let me take the lead for awhile. For me, being the one who gets to break the trail is a blessed job. I didn’t ride fast, but rather, cruised along feeling the weight of the fresh snow push back against the sled. As the sun moved to my back, I smiled and giggled watching my shadow weave back and forth on the trail as snow tumbled up over my hood and windshield.

As I rode, I couldn’t help but think about how breaking that trail is just like starting a New Year. You have a vague sense of direction and what lies before you, but until you start moving, you don’t really know what you’ll encounter. When winter comes and the snow falls, it blankets everything and makes it look new. Everything beneath it is just as it was before, but we see the world through new eyes for a few months. Each New Year grants us a similar opportunity—not to make everything different, but to look upon all of the things and people in our lives with a new and more hopeful perspective. Breaking trail that day brought a little smidge of peace into my soul that I hadn’t felt...not even on New Year’s Day. And somehow, it made me realize just exactly how I wish to break into my 2014.