As the first snowflakes begin to cover the ground and holiday lights pop up everywhere, I am reminded of my childhood memories filled with snowmobiling escapades.
    One of my first snowmobiling adventures took place on Webb Pond, when I was only about 3-years-old. My dad has always been a snowmobiling super fan, taking the family on adventures across the state. During this particular trip, I remember getting the sense we were lost after we spent hours riding trails none of us had ever seen before. As night drew closer and the air got colder, I began complaining. It wasn't that I didn’t want to be snowmobiling anymore, it was more the fact my legs and arms began freezing.
    “I’m too cold,” I recall yelling to my dad. At the time, I was small enough to ride on his snowmobile with him.
    “We’ll stop in a minute,” he said.
    When we finally did stop on Webb Pond, the pain from my frozen limbs began to get worse. My eyes were watering, my legs were shaking and the heater that came equipped with the snowmobile, which was supposed to at least keep my feet warm, felt like it was blowing cold air.
    While my dad, mother and brother all enjoyed a moment of the refreshing air and sampled a few of the Kit-Kat’s they had brought with us, I was planning my escape into the wild.
    Once my family had finally packed things up, I made my move.
    “I am not leaving,” I said, and plopped myself onto the ice. It was simple really, if my parents weren’t going to listen to me, I wasn’t going to listen to them. As I sat with a crinkled nose and eyes on the freezing ice, my parents and brother saddled up the snowmobiles and took off down the lake.
    But I wasn’t bothered. At this point, if it came down to it, I was prepared to battle it out with animals and mother nature to survive in the woods. After racing halfway across the lake, my family turned around and headed their snowmobiles back in my direction.
    Although I said I was prepared enough to survive in the wilderness, I didn’t ever say I would really want to, so it was no surprise the amount of relief that flew over me when I saw them coming back for me.
    But wanting to head home after a long days' ride isn’t the only reason for me to reflect on winters of my past.
    As my brother grew older I began riding with him. During a snow day, my brother and I goofed around on and off the snowmobile finding different ways to push its limitations. On this particular day, we were taunting our neighbor’s children, who were just as, if not more, crazy than we were, by driving the snowmobile around our house multiple times without giving them a ride. We stopped when we came around to the side of the house they were standing on and took off fast enough to blow snow up in the air and into their faces.
    But one time my brother took off a little too fast and I tumbled backwards off the snowmobile. During these escapades, my brother would make me wave to our neighbors while I sat in the back of the snowmobile. Once I lifted my hands off the basket, which sat mounted to the back of the snowmobile, he took off quickly flinging me into the air.
    A few years after that incident, while I was riding the same sled with my brother, he took a turn too hard and threw us both off the sled.
    My brother always had a knack for pushing snowmobiles to the limit. He would take the sled on a trail behind our house which led to an open field, where he would race. Oftentimes he would push the snowmobile particularly while I was on the sled just to scare me.
    This time, he scared us both.
    As the trail we were on opened up to a large field, my dad took off ahead of us. My brother, who is always competing with my dad for something, began speeding up. As we moved faster, my brother stood up and move from side to side to try and cut through the snow.
    For those of you who don’t already know why cutting through the snow is even necessary, I will tell you. Some sleds can get pretty hot while in use. If a sled starts to overheat, or get warmer it is important to take the sled off the packed trails into snow which hasn’t been driven on. My dad always told my brother and I that crunchy snow is the best snow to drive in because it kicks up into the engine and helps keep it cool.
    As my brother began cutting, he somehow lost control of the sled and tipped it onto its side, pinning my leg underneath. Fortunately I wasn’t injured but my interest in riding with my brother seemed to taper off after that incident.
    Although this year, like last year, I may not be able to join my parents for a ride on the sled, its nice to know I can always recall the funny memories of sledding in Maine.