meatbag
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The first time.
You never really know your sled till it runs over you and uses you for traction. I have to admit I have yet to have the infamous imprints of a big lug sled track, the clickety clickety noise of the lugs as they go over the helmet, happen to me. I do know a guy or two that have run themselves over though, scary as it sounds it was actually quite a comical sight.
FTP, (Patty Boy) as we know him had a old bruiser Summit with a 136" track when I met him. Pretty yellow. We went riding on some deeply grooved quad trails. They had deep snow filling them and they were actually fun bombing up down and around in. These trails have claimed more than a few hapless saps over the years that tempted their fates trying to navigate the steep deep channels worn down through them.
FTP was a trail victim. I just remember, that having the bigger track in the group I was ahead and playing in the waist deep snow. I turned around, headed back when I noticed I was alone. I backtracked a bit, came to a light channeled hill section and there his sled was. Even though it was a bruiser, it was a nice looking bruiser. The sled was all yellow, a very nice yellow. It just didn't look right though...kind of a bit sideways in the trail, stuck in the deep snow, still idling nicely but...it was sitting on a mysterious moving black carcass.
As I looked closer I saw FTP's leg squirming and flailing out from the side with nerve like jolts. Huh...I sat staring for a long 2 seconds at this strange sight. Birds were sitting in the trees, just watching doing bird things, all was calm in our little world at this moment except FTP was underneath his running sled, trapped. I never really found out how he managed that trick (I didn't want to embarrass him tooooo much) but I do know he hurt his thumb. Hurt his thumb!?!? Thats all? Yup. He sat sucking his thumb on the side of the trail for a little while, as if he were a big baby, then we went riding again and all was well. That was the first day I met FTP, and there would be many many more FTP eventful days. I did get a picture though. Ha!
The second time.
I used to go to the mountains with Big Mark. He had a old Summit and I was on a Long tracked 2 stroke Yamaha. There was a narrow steep Shute that didn't go anywhere and we had agreed that I would go as high up as I could get, park, set up, and get super awesome pictures of his hill conquering and hair raising high HP climb. I managed to get a fair ways up, turned out and dug my sled in. I poised for my soon to be magnificent epic photo's. I was ready. Camera set, hand on the zoom ready to capture every bit of action. All of it, from Gritted teeth and determination to flying snow.
Big Mark came flying up the hill, exhaust screaming, skis in the air. Looked good! As he came just up and over past me he started his turn. He then tried to plant it and dig it in. The only problem was he stopped just above my sled! Some snow broke away and he started falling/tipping to the side!
The loose snow knocked my sled and it rolled once then stopped. My jaw dropped. Whew! I was just standing there witnessing many things happening at once. Just as my sled stopped Big Mark's sled was pointed down the hill BUT he was...where? He was underneath it! I could see him holding on to something near the front as it all went sliding by me, slow motion. Thats when I heard it. The infamous noise of noises. The clickety, clickety, click, click of the lugs rolling over his full face helmet! just after he lost his grip, he was on his back looking into the bottom of the sled. I'll never forget that sound! My mouth was still open. I was stunned in awe of what was transpiring in front of me!
The sled was still idling as it picked up speed down the steep, steep hill. The winding up, the high pitched sound of the track getting farther away, looking smaller and smaller.
It went down seemingly for an eternity as Big Mark and I just watched in silence, hoping it would stop before hitting the next steeper section.
Well, it stopped luckily just before the next drop off. Hmmmm, it Looked like we'd have a good day after all! As the tension dropped, we let out a sigh of relief and had a good laugh having just dodged a expensive bullet.
His jacket got ripped and we had another good tale to tell over a few brews later. Through all the excitement I stood there watching this incredible drama unfold and I didn't even get one Damn picture of it till it was over! Son-of a...
Big Mark was the only guy I've ever known to be able to manhandle a sled physically and literally toss it around. I once watched him, in the fog, on a steep slope run down the mountain, chasing his free rolling old Summit, jump, grab and tackle it, saving it from certain doom and destruction once again. Ah, good memories.
You never really know your sled till it runs over you and uses you for traction. I have to admit I have yet to have the infamous imprints of a big lug sled track, the clickety clickety noise of the lugs as they go over the helmet, happen to me. I do know a guy or two that have run themselves over though, scary as it sounds it was actually quite a comical sight.
FTP, (Patty Boy) as we know him had a old bruiser Summit with a 136" track when I met him. Pretty yellow. We went riding on some deeply grooved quad trails. They had deep snow filling them and they were actually fun bombing up down and around in. These trails have claimed more than a few hapless saps over the years that tempted their fates trying to navigate the steep deep channels worn down through them.
FTP was a trail victim. I just remember, that having the bigger track in the group I was ahead and playing in the waist deep snow. I turned around, headed back when I noticed I was alone. I backtracked a bit, came to a light channeled hill section and there his sled was. Even though it was a bruiser, it was a nice looking bruiser. The sled was all yellow, a very nice yellow. It just didn't look right though...kind of a bit sideways in the trail, stuck in the deep snow, still idling nicely but...it was sitting on a mysterious moving black carcass.
As I looked closer I saw FTP's leg squirming and flailing out from the side with nerve like jolts. Huh...I sat staring for a long 2 seconds at this strange sight. Birds were sitting in the trees, just watching doing bird things, all was calm in our little world at this moment except FTP was underneath his running sled, trapped. I never really found out how he managed that trick (I didn't want to embarrass him tooooo much) but I do know he hurt his thumb. Hurt his thumb!?!? Thats all? Yup. He sat sucking his thumb on the side of the trail for a little while, as if he were a big baby, then we went riding again and all was well. That was the first day I met FTP, and there would be many many more FTP eventful days. I did get a picture though. Ha!
The second time.
I used to go to the mountains with Big Mark. He had a old Summit and I was on a Long tracked 2 stroke Yamaha. There was a narrow steep Shute that didn't go anywhere and we had agreed that I would go as high up as I could get, park, set up, and get super awesome pictures of his hill conquering and hair raising high HP climb. I managed to get a fair ways up, turned out and dug my sled in. I poised for my soon to be magnificent epic photo's. I was ready. Camera set, hand on the zoom ready to capture every bit of action. All of it, from Gritted teeth and determination to flying snow.
Big Mark came flying up the hill, exhaust screaming, skis in the air. Looked good! As he came just up and over past me he started his turn. He then tried to plant it and dig it in. The only problem was he stopped just above my sled! Some snow broke away and he started falling/tipping to the side!
The loose snow knocked my sled and it rolled once then stopped. My jaw dropped. Whew! I was just standing there witnessing many things happening at once. Just as my sled stopped Big Mark's sled was pointed down the hill BUT he was...where? He was underneath it! I could see him holding on to something near the front as it all went sliding by me, slow motion. Thats when I heard it. The infamous noise of noises. The clickety, clickety, click, click of the lugs rolling over his full face helmet! just after he lost his grip, he was on his back looking into the bottom of the sled. I'll never forget that sound! My mouth was still open. I was stunned in awe of what was transpiring in front of me!
The sled was still idling as it picked up speed down the steep, steep hill. The winding up, the high pitched sound of the track getting farther away, looking smaller and smaller.
It went down seemingly for an eternity as Big Mark and I just watched in silence, hoping it would stop before hitting the next steeper section.
Well, it stopped luckily just before the next drop off. Hmmmm, it Looked like we'd have a good day after all! As the tension dropped, we let out a sigh of relief and had a good laugh having just dodged a expensive bullet.
His jacket got ripped and we had another good tale to tell over a few brews later. Through all the excitement I stood there watching this incredible drama unfold and I didn't even get one Damn picture of it till it was over! Son-of a...
Big Mark was the only guy I've ever known to be able to manhandle a sled physically and literally toss it around. I once watched him, in the fog, on a steep slope run down the mountain, chasing his free rolling old Summit, jump, grab and tackle it, saving it from certain doom and destruction once again. Ah, good memories.
