Recently, I got the chance to hop on a snowmobile and go for
a nice rip.
It had been a long time since I had sat on a machine. Because
of a lot of life circumstances, I haven't had the chance to go
snowmobiling for many years due to work, family and other
commitments. I wouldn't change any of it though as I have no
regrets.
It brought back a lot of good and wild memories I had
snowmobiling on the farm I grew up on in-between Hagar and St.
Charles.
On the farm, chores always came first before anything else.
Then came the fun with what little time remained.
In the summer, spring and fall, myself and family members put
countless hours on the ATVs, racing down trails and through
thick mud bogs on our 150-acre property.
In the winter though, it was all about snowmobiling and putting
as many hours as possible on them.
My family had two machines - a 1981 Yamaha 340 Enticer and 1991
Yahama Venture.
The parents had the Venture as it was, at the time, a Cadillac
of the snow machine world.
This left me and my siblings up to our own devices with the
Enticer.
In my humble opinion, the 1981 340 Enticer was truly a classic
machine for the ages.
Modest and simple in its design, this particular Enticer was a
lightning quick tank.
It was built to last and take a beating. Which it did.
I am putting in my own disclaimer here for the next part since
I can't accept responsibility for my past actions or ones done
to the Enticer by other family members.
Everything you're not supposed to do on a snow machine, we did.
Racing, jumping, rolling, chasing animals, crashing and even
towing objects behind it while trying to knock people off said
object.
Various family members from sisters to brothers to cousins all
took their turns driving the Enticer over the edge.
The Enticer's now legendary toughness was never more evident
than in the early 90s, some ten years after it's "birth".
The family was in Ottawa for the Holidays and a cousin was
looking after the farm and our animals.
One day, he used the Enticer to drive down to the creek and
open up a watering hole for our herd of beef cattle to drink.
He parked the Enticer on the creek and proceeded to chop a hole
in the frozen ice. He then indulged in a cigarette as the
Enticer crashed through the ice and sank four-feet into the
chilly creek waters.
The real problem was he forgot to tell anyone about it right
away or even try and get it out before he went out of town
himself.
We returned and discovered the machine missing. I went up to
the barn to go for a rip and the Enticer was gone. I lost my
mind and control of my tongue as vulgarity spewed from my
frothing mouth.
We thought the Enticer had been stolen. In my eyes, I could
completely understand why somebody would want to steal the
Enticer because it was an awesome machine.
We called the cops and made a report. The kids were told by the
parents we might never see the old machine again.
I was mad enough to cry.
A few days later, my cousin checked in with us to ask if we had
gotten the Enticer out of the creek.
Of course it caught us off guard. As soon as I was told, I was
racing out of the house and down to the creek in sock feet in a
haste to see if it was true.
Upon my arrival, I saw the old Enticer resting peacefully on
the creek bed. I would be lying if I said I didn't want blood
for this outrage.
My stepfather, Mack, soon arrived with the Venture and some
rope.
I jumped into the flesh-freezing water and fastened the rope to
one of the skies and screamed for it to be removed. Within
moments, and much to my surprise we were able to spring the
Enticer from its watery grave.
It was covered in mud and ice and looked dead.
We left the Enticer to dry off in the barn for a day and put in
new spark plugs.
The next day, to everyone's astonishment, Mack took one pull on
the ripcord and the Enticer started right away.
After a couple of choking noises, the Enticer settled down into
its familiar purr. Even being submerged in bitter waters for
several days couldn't kill the Enticer.
We used the Enticer for several more years after that episode
without any mechanical problems. For well over 10 years, it
took a savage beating and kept running smoothly.
Those were good times.
Scott Haddow is a sports editor with Northern Life.
