WESTLOCK - There’s a clear sign when you speak to event organizers that what they’re doing is basically an institution: you ask how long it’s been going on, they look at one another, sometimes let out an expletive, and then they try to remember if it’s been 20 or 30 years.
Every time, without fail, “how long has this been going on” is the toughest question.
It wasn’t any different at the Pembina Driftbusters Snowmobile Rally Feb. 1. It’s been going on for “oh, I don’t know, 25 years” at Long Island Lake.
Across this province, there’s a system of trails that, to my surprise, can have anybody travel down from Fort McMurray to the lake on their snowmobile. Not too far north of the Cross Lake Provincial Park, there’s a TransCanada snowmobile trail — east to west, you can get from Athabasca to Swan Hills, no problem.
It’s around these systems that the Driftbusters host the rally. Riders go around the 70 km trail, and it usually takes an hour-and-a-half — some people do it twice.
“It depends on what you want to do. There’s food on the trail, hot wieners at the cabin,” said one of the organizers, Cliff Bromberger.
This year, they had 160 waivers signed by 11:30 a.m. The deadline for registration was a soft 12 p.m. is what Bromberger told me.
“This year is very good,” he said.
Last year, only 70 people came but it was -40C outside. The consensus for the perfect temperature to ride is -10C.
The competitive aspect of this rally has to be somewhere else, because it’s clearly not in the end time of your lap.
If you go by everybody who was taking a break at the cabin on the trail, the competition isn’t who goes around the loop faster — it’s all in the tricks you do.
Who buries their snowmobile in the biggest pile of snow?
How much snow can you kick up?
People come in groups generally, some were there with eight people, some in pairs.
That’s where you compete, it’s quasi-internal like that, you versus your buddies, or family members.
One woman from Barrhead said snowmobiling is probably the only thing that you can do when you’re in your 40s and keep getting better.
So there’s an added layer of where competition lies: it’s with the self.
She got up to faster speeds this year compared to the last, “so that was good.”
People on the trails came from all over northern Alberta — Edmonton, Sherwood Park, Spruce Grove, St. Paul, Barrhead, Athabasca, Swan Hills — for “one of the best trail systems out there.”
The age-range too is quite exceptional. There was 13-year-old Brayden Scarlett from Manola, probably the fastest of his group – it was his second year riding, this time with twice the horsepower he had last year.
“I don’t see him until we stop,” said one of his group members, Tom Tabbert.
Tabbert, who came to the rally from Pigeon Lake, said his first time on a snowmobile was in 1967.
“My brother and I had to walk about two miles to a friend’s place who had a Ski-Doo and we’d burn donuts in his field.”
That’s how most of the grey-haired, bearded riders around the firepit at the cabin got their start: before there was even a trail system it was all backyard sledding (because snowmobile is two syllables too long).
So the rally is not exactly for competition, but I wouldn’t stretch and call it a hobby either. Its place in daily life around here will remain ambiguous for now, since the only clarity I got is that if your parents ride, you will too — “if you don’t, it’s a problem.”
The Ski-Doo is up there with insulin and basketball on the list of greatest Canadian inventions —or so claimed CBC in 2007 — so that makes sense.
How I got to that checkpoint in the first place is a story in and of itself, or maybe it’s the definitive account of what these people are like.
I was dressed head to toe, with assistance from club secretary Annette Boissonnault, in Cliff’s gear, including his name-tagged $400 jacket —she’s in possession of photographic evidence.
From the registration point, Cameron Clark offered to give me a ride to the cabin as it’s only accessible via snowmobile.
And here’s the kicker: none of it was my idea. Internally, I had resigned myself that I wasn’t going to get there when they told me it’s machines-only. Externally, the ‘oh’ I let escape sounded really disappointed, but I don’t think that’s what triggered the offer.
I think it’s just what people do here. You need a hand, someone’s there to give you gear and a ride. It’s more natural to do that than to remember how long you’ve done it for.
Andreea Resmerita, TownandCountryToday.com
Follow me on Twitter @andreea_res
