I was only four-years-old when my parents made me get up early on a Saturday to try this new sport of theirs calling ‘snowmobiling’. They handed me the brightest yellow coat I’d ever seen, a pair of orange gloves and matched it with a helmet just as crazy, that you’d think I was colour-blind. It didn’t take me long to realize it was just so they could find me faster if I fell off, and believe me, it worked!

It took me a while to fully enjoy it. Being in the cold all day long with my face scrunched up like a chipmunk was never my idea of a fun-filled outing. But growing up in a family full of girls, my poor dad needed something to do with us that didn’t involve holding a shopping bag. So in attempts to get us out of the house, and see what nature had to offer, the sport stuck. After that first year, we even started getting our friends involved. Then nice warm luxurious family vacations turned into freezing, map reading adventures. Soon we were attending every snowmobile show, and I counted down the days till my 12^th birthday so I could get my very own snowmobile license. Truth be told, I couldn’t wait to take part in the complaining I’d been hearing from my family when we’d stop for lunch. “My thumb is killing me,” my oldest sister would say. “My poor back, its aching in pain,” my mom would cut in. “Oh yeah, I know… my arms are tired from hanging on for dear life back there,” I’d joke. Then I’d immediately get shot looks from my siblings, as I didn’t have a right to complain, I wasn’t actually driving like they were after all. And they were right.

The moment I got given my first sled and took it for a ride I thought my thumb was going to fall off and my back was going to crumble into dust. But I cared for that sled just the same, even if it was a hand-me-down like everything else I received. That was until I started growing up and being more aware of how much fashion-sense this sport lacked. Sure, I loved my bright green sled with hot pink skis and matching handlebars, but my yellow coat and red helmet didn’t give it justice. I was starting to notice boys at this age, and talking about sledding with them was one of the many things I had over all the other girls at school. It wasn’t long after, that I wanted to start riding with my friends, and didn’t understand why I had to ride with my family to the cottage for the 100^th time. Just as I was starting to think that this sport had given me all it had to offer, I was mistaken again. My dad decided to take the sport one step further, no not to the extreme measure of racing, which I had always secretly wanted to do. But he took a step in the other direction – politics. If you are unfamiliar with what I mean, good! Keep it that way, for as long as possible.

It started out slow.

Him putting up trail signs for our local snowmobile club, and then going around on the weekend to collect permit money. Then four years later, he is somehow president of the local club, and I have enough information that I’ve gathered from our dinner table conversations to write you a 1,000 page novel on snowmobile politics. I wouldn’t say it was a bad thing, as it let us partake in more snowmobile events and raise money for a good cause. And as a family who rode the local trails for years on end, we got a direct voice in saying what could be improved. Our answer was always the same, “More grooming! We need more groomers!”

Did it take away from our time snowmobiling as a family, of course it did. But did it help other families come closer together by snowmobiling, absolutely. And that’s all I could ask for.

I realize not everyone’s experience from growing up in a family of snowmobilers is the same. Maybe you tried it once, and fell off the sled from a big bump, and shortly gave up on the sport? Yup, I’ve been there too and I got right back on. Perhaps you went out for a New Years Eve ride with a group of friends with -25 temperatures and got lost and made it back with only half an hour to spare before the clock hit midnight? I’m all too familiar with that one, it’s happened not just one New Years Eve for me, but for three! Or maybe you’ve went out for a nice ride and gotten your sled stuck in waist deep water, cursing the whole three hours it takes you to get free? I’d be lying if I say I didn’t think about giving up the sport after that moment too. But as frustrating as it can be at times, I wouldn’t change growing up without it. In fact, I can’t wait for my kids, to one day, experience the same.

For more of Alana Britten's written work, check out Snow Goer Canada or The SnowGoer Blog. You can also check out some of her personal work online as well. You can also find her around at the Go Snowmobiling, Give it a Try Tour instructing people on how to snowmobiling properly!