January 31, 2004
SNOWMOBILES
I finally rode a snowmobile in Whistler. I've always wanted to do that. We took them up to 6,000 feet at twilight, had hot chocolate at a cabin on Crystal Ridge, then rode them back down at night under extremely heavy snowfall. Very cool.
There were a couple of guys in our group who were problem children: one from Riga, Latvia (he was actually okay) and his buddy from Dickhead, Virginia. Dickhead kept standing up and doing other annoying things, causing the guide to have a word or two with him. My brother and I exchanged a few looks, knowing what happened next was inevitable: on the way down, not 10 minutes from the finish, Dickhead missed a rather sharp turn and launched himself into some trees. Fucked up his (their!) snowmobile, and was lucky he didn't kill himself. He told me he'd purchased the insurance. I hope he did. That guide was a pissed off hombre. These machines were his babies.
You can imagine my disappointment that the nutsack was unscathed (well, he said he was unhurt, but he sure was walking funny). I wanted to see an actual heli-lift of a skullcrack case. Damn my luck!