Any kid exposed to motorized sports growing up is gonna be a lucky, happy kid. That’s just my opinion.

I definitely count myself lucky to have grown up with snowmobiles. Perhaps, since they played such a significant role in socializing, and served as a core family activity for the majority of our winters, this is why I’ve always enjoyed them.

Or perhaps it’s the noise, the smell of mixed gas, the need for speed.. the “watercooler”of shootin’ the shit, so to speak, of Dad’s ramshackle, mancave shop (sorry Dad, but you know I’m right…). 

Many of my fond childhood memories involve these stinky, loud machines, from when I was a baby riding on the sled, being held by a parent (one time I fell asleep on the handlebars and my face hit the killswitch and just about sent Dad over the windshield), all the way up until now. We did a lot of trail riding with old, heavy machines. It wasn’t until my later years that Dad and I invested in backcountry sledding. But those are stories for other times.

For now, let’s talk about one day in particular, as a kid on the trails, with a Grandpa in tow.

I was probably in my early to mid teens, it was not a singularly cold day, it wasn't warm either. It was the middle of a Yukon winter, after all.

It was the afternoon, and Dad wanted to go out for a snowmobile ride. The Grandparents had come up from Edmonton for a visit, so Dad, Grandpa, my little brother, and I, all decided to go get some fresh air and take a jaunt out on some trails.

The trail network we had access to from our house was vast, maybe even unending.

That day we weren’t planning on going very far, but it was still far enough if you consider riding for a couple of hours.

Dad rode one of our newer, fancier machines. I doubled with Grandpa on our super cushy two-seater trail machine. I was driving. My kid brother was on our little Yamaha 250 cc Enticer. In my mind, we were practically raised on that machine. For perspective, “cc” stands for cubic centimeters” of engine displacement. Meaning it’s very small. It’s like the Shetland pony of snowmobiles. If you are a full-grown adult and you sat on it, your knees would be hitting your elbows. So yeah, it was adorable, obviously. 

That darn machine never quit, and boy, did we put that thing through the wringer. *moment of silence for the Enticer*

ANYWAYS, so we take off, all bundled and geared up, polluting the neighbourhood with exhaust and noise in our little convoy; Dad in the lead, little bro in the middle, and me and the old G-pa at the back. 

We get to the turnoff, and we putter down the trail. The light is flat, we only have a few more hours before we lose the daylight.

Now, see, at this point in my life, I’ve graduated from our little Enticer, to a 350 cc Yamaha Excel (so slightly bigger), and, on occasion, the 550 trail machine. So my head is real big, at this point.

I’m a cool chick that gets to drive one of the nice machines.

But I’m also small. Machines are heavy. So my weight does not influence these things all that well.

Sometimes, I would have to lean over pretty far to make a turn. But I know the dance well, so Grandpa is chillin’ like a villain in the passenger seat behind me, and I’ve got something to prove. So I’m dancing around on this machine (which is probably the most stable machine on the planet) as though I were side-hilling a 45 degree slope every time there’s a bump. And I am just so concentrated on throwing my weight around and on the trail ahead, I’m not really paying attention to much else.

At some point, Dad pulls us all to a stop. There is a tree across the trail. So we all shut the machines off and dismount. Dad gets out the axe, and we all help clear the tree out of the way.

With the tree moved, Dad immediately fires up his machine and takes off. My brother then yanks on the little pullcord of the Enticer, and is also soon gone. Grandpa and I finally get to our sled, and I hop on. I’ve got my full-face helmet on, so I can’t see him in my periphery, but I feel the sled sink as he steps on behind me, so I turn my key, with my fancy electric start, push the throttle and speed away to catch up with the crew.

I maneuver the sled for a short while before I finally round a bend to see my father and brother stopped in a meadow, waiting.

As I pull closer, I see Dad’s eyes widen behind his helmet visor, and he points at me. Or rather, behind me.

Seeing this, my brother also turns around, and points, a little frantically. My smile fades from my face, as I stop, and turn around, only to see an empty seat behind me.

I literally lost Grandpa.

So now we’re all panicking. I have no idea when he would have fallen off, or if he even could have fallen off. I had no idea how long I had been driving without realizing that my own GRANDFATHER was missing.

We turn around, and begin speeding back the way we came.

The longer we ride without finding him, the dumber I feel.

This is not the first time I’ve ditched someone in the woods and zoomed away, either. I used to do it to my brother all the time when he was little. Except, those times were always on purpose. And hilarious.

This was a little more terrifying, seeing as I lost an elderly man in the middle of the Yukon bush in the winter time, without even noticing.

By this time we’ve reached the point where we had cleared the tree earlier, and Grandpa is nowhere to be seen.

Dad points at the ground, and as we ride through, I see that he was pointing at footprints along the trail.

We quicken our pace, when after what feels like ages, we turn a corner, and there is Grandpa, walking back down the trail.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and we all rattle to a stop and get off the machines to gather around Grandpa.

“What happened to you?” Dad asks him.

“Well, I was just puttin’ my leg over the snowmachine to get on after moving that tree, when Mik drove away. Had my leg up in the air and she was gone.” Grandpa replies with his Grandpa voice, shaking his head. He didn’t exactly seem pleased. I guess I can’t blame him.

“So I just said to myself, ‘Well, screw this, I’m goin’ home.’, and I started walkin’ back the way we came.” He continues.

Dad frowns slightly. “So, you were getting on the machine, and Mik left? And then you figured you would just walk home. From way out here.”

Grandpa raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

 “Yep.”

There is a pause, and then Dad splutters, and begins to laugh. My brother grins, and elbows me.

“You left your Grandpa on the trail?! Didn’t even wanna wait for him eh? HAH!”

Everyone is laughing now, even Grandpa, although he’s still shaking his head.

I will never live this down, for as long as I live.

We all get back on the machines. This time, Grandpa insists that he drive. Everyone is still laughing at me. Mom and Grandma are in for a real story when we get back home. And sure enough, it has continued to be the source of laughter ever since.

The day I abandoned Grandpa in the woods. 

In Loving Memory of My Grandfather

By a Very Embarrassed Mikeala Shaw