Sommer Winter trip...

When you have the last name Sommer, it can be difficult to define or explain exactly why my love for most things winter is so pervasive.  It wasn't always that way...there were a few years between my last snowmobiling experience with my dad and his friends and my first trip downhill on a snowboard when I literally had NOTHING to do during the winter.  It really screwed with me mentally....so much so that Michelle used to refer to it as Winter Depression.  As previously referenced, snowboarding changed all of that, and became all-consuming for a long while, until Michelle decided she wanted to try snowmobiling.  Her enthusiasm for that particular endeavor has led to the rekindling of my own desire to ride, and in the 5 or so years since we started sledding, we have owned seven snowmobiles. 

We Sommers have a problem with winter...we tend to enjoy it a lot.  Mother Nature was very kind to us in our initial years as snowmobilers...plenty of white stuff to go around even before Christmas, and plenty of options as to where to ride each weekend.  That has NOT been the case recently, when we have been forced to chase the snow and alter our schedules to take advantage of the white gold between meltdowns.  This year, we were chomping at the bit to get our annual Christmas - New Year's trip planned and carried out without dealing with a fickle Ma Nature....so early December found us planning a trip to Baraga, Michigan to meet with our friends Bill and Lisa from Pennsylvania for a couple days, then finishing off the week on Lake Gogebic, MI with our boating friends for an awesome New Year celebration.  Unfortunately, Old Man Winter is apparently asleep at the wheel once again, and da Yoop had NO snow for us to play on...we were left with a dilemma similar to that of the previous year (one which had a similar scenario).  Last year, we packed up the truck and headed west to Colorado...but this year, the snow situation out there wasn't looking very good either.  Our Pennsylvania friends made the definitive move to cancel on Michigan and head to their old stomping grounds, St. Zenon, Quebec, Canada.  In a move calculated largely upon desperation, and fueled in a lesser capacity by desire to try something new....I took the plunge and decided we would commit to going with them.  Instead of driving 16 hours west, we would be driving 15 hours east.  No problem.

After a hectic couple of days leading up to Christmas filled with the usual familial holiday cheer, we were ready to roll.  The truck was packed and in the driveway as we departed to our final family functions on Christmas day.  Our desire to get rolling early was stoked by the approaching winter storm that was going to be following us to the north and east.  One thing about travelling to winter activities....you always want the winter to be there WHEN you arrive, and to leave you alone in the TO and FROM stages of the trip!  Well, we got home at about 10:30 Christmas night, and I set my alarm for 3:15am.  I was not wanting to roll into a foreign country in a blizzard for multiple hours, and getting up that early was an easy sacrifice to make.  We were rolling by 4am, and by shortly after 8, we had made it to Detroit. The border crossing was not difficult, although the female officer was less than friendly.  I will admit to telling her I had one case of beer when in actuality, it was two cases of beer, a gallon of rum, two bottles of wine, a bottle of Rum Chata, and some Baileys.  We were taking NO chances with our thirst after a day of hard riding.

We continued to the east, an ominous line of dark clouds to our south, and a telephonic data blackout due to the lack of an international package meaning we had to rely on the merits of the AM radio dial to tell us what we were in for weather wise.  We made Toronto in about seven hours, and the radio was telling us that the Winter Storm Warning would kick in at about 4 pm ( 4pm eastern, we left at 5am eastern).  That gave us about a 3 hour cushion...a bit too close for comfort yet.  While passing through Toronto, we came upon the Canadian National Holiday of Boxing Day.  Apparently, it is a day of shopping, much like the day after our Thanksgiving, and there was LITERALLY a 5 mile backup in both directions of the off-ramp for a major local mall.  It was CRAZY.  Fortunately, it didn't affect the fast lane, and we kept going.

A stiff 30 mph headwind kept our gas mileage at around 11, so stops for fuel were a bit more frequent than I would have liked.  Still, we were ahead of the weather and things were looking good, so we pushed our second tank of fuel all the way into Quebec, where we suddenly found ourselves in the lingual minority...big time.  I had known that Quebec was a French-speaking area of Canada with a serious bent towards independence, but I guess I didn't really figure on English being almost entirely absent.  Yet...here we were, looking at a menu in a fast food restaurant at a truck stop...deciding what to eat by looking at pictures and feeling very thankful that the girl behind the counter spoke decent English...our knowledge of French being exactly NIL.  Also...I found out that Capital One will cut you off if your card starts reeling up charges in another country...a quick phone call from my parents established that fact and the card was usable again shortly afterwards.  Merci.

The third large city we encountered was Montreal, and we successfully navigated the French road signs until we found ourselves headed north for the final leg of the trip.  It was right around then, 10+ hours into the drive, that we first encountered what would be considered ridable snow.  That amount rapidly increased as we continued north, and by the time we were off the highway and into the area around St. Zenon, the snow was COPIOUS.  As in...there were FEET of it.  The roads were mercifully clear as we climbed and twisted into the low mountains of the area, and the picturesque cottages along the route looked like they had been plucked out of a snow globe.  It was surreal.

FINALLY, 15 hours after the inception of the drive, we pulled into our destination. Le Auberge de Cabanon is a rustic lodge and restaurant that is only arrived at with a 5 mile drive down what I am sure is a dirt road in the summer, and was dressed as a icy washboard for the winter.  We checked in, met our PA friends, and they helped Michelle unload the truck and bring our stuff to the room as I unloaded the sleds and got them into the locked corral where they would spend each evening.  Theft was a concern in the past, so La Cabanon not only locks the sleds away in the evening, but also the parking lot where the trailers and tow rigs were situated.  Very smart.  I had to park about 4 rows back, the lot being almost entirely full of two and four-place sled trailers.  Clearly, we had come to the right place.

The next day dawned with a grey menace in the sky, but with a fiery hot desire to RIDE in our bellies. Our group consisted of 10 people, our friend's Bill and Lisa, Michelle and I, two newlywed couples Josh and Maree and Will and Amy, and hardcore sledders Justin and Steve.  Snow was already falling as we hit the trail (this was the storm I had been outrunning, it was a bit slower than forecast), and it continued all day long.  Visibility was an issue, as the falling snow and snow dust kicked up by the riders in front kept one searching for a clear line of sight, but that didn't slow the group down by much.  We were running 60-70 mph on the straights and having a GREAT time.  The trails were spectacular...rolling, twisting, smooth ribbons cutting a path through an endless array of pine and birch trees.  Everything I saw flashing past my goggles was amazing...we had hit snowmobile paydirt.  Right away, I knew it was worth the drive.

The subsequent days were much the same, with the temps getting gradually colder and the snow tapering off after adding another 6 to 8 inches of white fluffiness to the area.  Day two saw the roughest trails of the trip, most likely as the result of the fresh snow and the large amount of traffic...which was entirely relative...a large amount of traffic in Quebec is still empty trails compared to what we are used to.  We rode across a hydroelectric dam, alongside a beautiful river, up and down scores of mountains, through picturesque villages, over a one-lane suspension bridge, and across a somewhat questionably frozen lake (we were assured it was solid...the slushy parts said otherwise!).  The towns of St. Donay and St. Michelle felt like they were transplanted from the French Alps.  Justin and Steve took turns getting stuck in the powder of an abandoned ski hill.  We raced through a national park, and had fun doing husband v. wife grudge match drag races on the lake back at La Cabanon.  We ate at La Glaciere, Le Pub, Repos and Hector's...the latter being named after the owners 2 year old son who was present for our meal and waved goodbye to us as we rode away.  The people we encounterd were VERY friendly, and very patient with a bunch of non-French speakers...repetition was the key to our understanding!  We only got lost once, and that was due to poorly marked trails, but it did result in a bit of consternation, as being lost in an area where you don't speak the native tongue at night in the freezing cold with less than 1/2 tank of gas can be...well...bothersome.  The hot tub and some cocktails welcomed us back each night, and by the end of the five days, my body was actually feeling pretty good.

We racked up just shy of 850 miles, with about 75 of them in the "bumpy" category.  The rest was borderline heavenly.  Our sleds all ran flawlessly, and, as a group, we moved very well together...nobody lagged behind, and, more importantly, nobody got lost!  Our skill in speaking French did not progress nearly as well, especially with regard to Michelle saying goodbye.  She could not get her mouth to properly say "Au revoir," which was a source of much hilarity.  "Adieu" seemed to suit her much better.

Our final night was New Year's Eve, but after a 160 mile day, we gave ourselves a pass an had our own countdown at like 10 pm...another contributing factor being that the PA folks were rolling for home at 5am, with us following by 7 (6 our time).  We bade our friends "adieu," packed for our early morning departure, and went to sleep.  The next morning we chased the sun across the sky heading west for 15 more hours of driving, awake, but dreaming of the wonders we had just experienced.