Sick

Last month we headed out for the season’s first snowmobile adventure on Newfoundland’s West Coast despite a sickening forecast.

We’d been warned of the anemic snow conditions but were anxious to break in our sleds; and figured the worst case scenario was a good party in Corner Brook on Friday Night. Some sick on Saturday. Many a man was crucified on Friday and didn’t rise from the dead till Sunday!

 

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“…the season's first snowmobile adventure”

We started our run behind Cormack with a foot of powder on White River Road but by the time we hit kilometer 10 there was 2ft. At kilometer 20 there was 3’ and by the time we got to the warm up shack the snow was pillowing over the windshield as we bounced along the trail, shaking our heads free of snow and in utter disbelief at these most unexpected conditions Sick!

Despite my many warnings regarding the bottomless texture and the danger of striking rocks, stumps and other hidden treasures – the boys couldn’t resist the ditches and barren stretches along the way. Every trench exposing a multitude of obstacles they’d struck or merely tapped with track and ski. Some sick run of luck.

 

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“… at kilometer 20 there was 3′”

Over lunch I discovered that the most adventurous and hardest hitting rider in our crew wasn’t wearing a Tek Vest or, with the exception of his helmet, any other form of protective wear. Must be sick in the head.

On the way back to the road one of the boys finally struck solidly on a rock face with the right ski – tearing up the spindles, bending the shock and crippling the sleds tunnel. Thankfully the young fellow wasn’t hurt – but he looked some sick when he realized the extent of the damage and the repair bill he was facing.

 

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“… the boys finally struck solidly on a rock face”

Back at the road the conversation soon came around to the time I near tore the lower part of my leg off in a snowmobile accident near our location. I’m sick of hearing that story.

Exhausted, we hit the hay early that evening and I was enjoying a great sleep till my roommate’s vomiting awoke me. Poor fellow – talk about sick.

 

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“… my roommate's vomiting awoke me”

The next day I suggested that my ailing friend should fly home and I’d make a solo drive to get the truck back to St. John’s, Newfoundland. “Eh boy?” my buddy stated; “You’d do that for me? That’s sick, man!”

The road on the ride back was perfectly clear and I was carrying way too much speed when I came up on a police speed trap near Baie Verte junction – nausea overtook me when the second car flicked its lights for me to pull over and I felt some sick until  he passed me off and took down the truck in front of me.

 

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“… I'd make a solo drive”

Having now reduced my rate of speed I was a lot more relaxed for the remainder of the drive and with my head cleared I was able do some good solid thinking and came up with some sick story ideas – including this one.

Now that’s what I call a sick weekend!”

 

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“… that's what I call a sick weekend!”

 

 

 

 

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