ASK A YOOPER: Acts of Alaskan sled gods

For those who’ve read my past musings among these pages, you’re aware of my love of snowmobiling. Pardon me, snowmachining … I AM beginning to use the term in regular conversation and I think it’s going to be permanent. Here’s the long-and-short of why.

Just over two weeks ago felt like Christmas. My Yamaha LS Viper mountain sled and I were reunited at the cabin in Big Lake. Since early December, every time I walked outside, I would hear the rumbles of two and four-stroke motors off in the distance. It only reminded me of the fact that my new sled, with less than 300 miles on it, was sitting at the Yamaha dealer in West Ishpeming, Michigan. It had to stay below while I got situated up here.

As this winter descended on the Mat-Su, I told myself that I could do without it for ONE season — wrong!

With literally hundreds of thousands of acres as a playground, the urge became a compulsion. But in the two weeks since its arrival, the god of snowmachines has tormented me. Allow me to explain.

The sled arrived on Wednesday, Feb. 1. I met the shipper at the Fred Meyer parking lot in Wasilla and drove out to Big Lake where we unloaded. A quick trip down the road was all I had time for. I left work early on Friday for its first real taste of Alaska riding. That afternoon, I was making my way through a hiking trail which would lead to Flat Lake and on to Big Lake.

Cresting a hill, I discover the trail blocked by several large, downed trees. A steep drop-off on one side and a thicket of small trees and alder on the other. No choice but to backtrack. My sled is a 153 inches, making it a tight fit through the thicket. That meant at least a five-point turn — thank God for reverse! Halfway through the maneuver with me standing on the edge of the drop, I slip. My mitts on the handlebar, I inadvertently hit the throttle.

The sled lurches forward into a clump of cottonwood saplings. Only went about three feet but it was enough to do some damage — a kinked upper and lower A-arm on the right side. I’m miffed beyond belief but the sled is perfectly ride-worthy. I continue on for my first trip around Big Lake and the surrounding trail system. Despite the faux pas, a fantastic day!

Up early Saturday. Coffee and a little office work from home under my belt...time to ride! I had gotten just a small taste of the Big Lake trail system before darkness fell the previous afternoon. Now it was time to just go. I don’t enjoy riding trails, at least with a mountain sled, but with no trailer yet, I have to wend my way down them until I find open field. Luckily, the area from Big Lake to Nancy Lake is full of them.

I’m in heaven carving my way across wide expanses without having to worry about hidden granite boulders or large stumps buried in the snow like back in the Yoop. Zipping along, I cut close to a scrawny, two-thirds dead, black spruce. I feel a branch on my leg. It’s only about an inch or so in diameter; didn’t hurt. I clear the trees but still feel the branch. It’s sticking OUT of my seat!

Two days, two rides, two costly mistakes. Back home that night, Nick — the guy who owns the cabins where I’m renting — helps straighten the arms and Gorilla Tape is a wonderful fix for a small hole. Sunday’s riding is uneventful — as far as the sled is concerned. For me personally, it was a fantastic day. The sled was put away for the week.

Friday evening, I notice my helmet is in need of attention. The thing has only been worn about a half-dozen times but needed to have part of the liner snapped back into place. Why it came loose was beyond me but I figured best to put things in order. To make the job easier, I decided to remove the modular shield, two very large-head screws holding it on to the helmet.

Keep in mind, this is a new, Ski-Doo Modular 3 helmet. It wasn’t cheap. None-the-less, the mount screws were ferociously opposed to coming out although it should have been very easy to remove them. I grab the can of WD-40 and give a shot to the threads of each to help coerce them. They are both a bare. I finally get one out and start on the second. All of a sudden, SNAP! The aluminum screw breaks off still embedded in the helmet. Insert your favorite string of expletives here.

I’m beside myself. A $300-plus helmet and I get this? OK, I’ve got extra screws so I grab a pair of small vice-grips to get the stub out only to have it screw snap again. I’m livid and I’m sure the neighbors heard my rant. I’ve got two more helmets but they’re more than 3,000 miles away. Luckily I found a replacement Sunday morning.

More riding around Big Lake. A couple hours in, I stop to grab a snack out of my backpack only to discover that, in my haste to ride, I didn’t fully zip up the main compartment before leaving. Inside that compartment was the handle for my compact snow shovel. The spade was still where I put it, but no handle!

Why do I share my misfortunes? How can a guy have such a string of bad juju? I’m convinced it’s because of my first column I wrote on the snowmobile vs. snowmachine quandary. I’m being punished for questioning the issue. For the rest of the sledding season, I promise to give it my best to use the latter term — unless the Alaskan sled gods refuse to lighten up on me.