Snowmobile Quotes

Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.

I shoved him off the snowmobile. He landed on his back in the snow. "Love is a brat, you think? No, love id fine. You are the brat, you spoiled, rotten brat!

I'm sorry?" I shouted over the noise from the snowmobile Max was sitting astridde. "Climb on!" he shouted back and I stared at the snowmobile. "Can't we walk?" I asked loudly. "No." "Drive?" "No." I took a step back. "Maybe..." "Duchess, get...the fuck...on.

In my box of sound bites there are no jackhammers, no snowmobiles, no Jet Skis, no children wailing. Music but no Muzak. It's my box. Put what you want in yours.

I'm trying to figure out how much I need to deposit into the Kate-have-a-good-time fund," he said. "It's pretty empty.You might have to make a substanial deposit." I couldn't believe how breathless I sounded,like I'd been running beside a snowmobile instead of riding on it. His grin grew."I'm still strapped for cash." "You're torturing me,you know thst? Did you take lessons from Sam?" "I'm torturing you?Geez,you've been torturing me since the day we got here.

Did you know the local tv channels broadcasts your 900 in an endless loop? It's a bunch of video want ads for snowmobiles, then some kind of school crap with Everett Walsh that nobody wants to see over and over,and then you.

Having obviously forgiven me for the incident on the Starship, Stevie Wonder turned up one day and took out a snowmobile, insisting on driving it himself. To pre-empt your question: no, I have absolutely no idea how Stevie Wonder successfully piloted a snowmobile through the Rocky Mountains of Colorado without killing himself, or indeed anyone else, in the process, but he did.

They were opposites in many ways, but they both liked dancing badly, singing loud, and going fast on snowmobiles. That goes a long way. Best friends. Sisters before misters. And of all the things they’ve promised each other, the most important: we never desert each other.

Sorry," I said... "Sorry for what?" He glanced over at me. "For whatever I did wrong," I said. "Did you do something?" I shrugged, "Why are you not talking to me?" "I'm just driving." He moved his hand from the gearshift onto my leg. "Do you like snowmobiling?" "I love it," I said. He shot me a look. "Have you ever gone snowmobiling before?" "No," I said. He smiled. God, I hate his smile, I love it so much.

Does everything have a father? Apparently so. A web search on “the father of” turned up fathers for vasectomy reversal, hillbilly jazz, lichenology, snowmobiling, modern librarianship, Japanese whiskey, hypnosis, Pakistan, natural hair care products, the lobotomy, women’s boxing, Modern Option Pricing Theory, the swamp buggy, Pennsylvania ornithology, Wisconsin bluegrass, tornado research, Fen-Phen, modern dairying, Canada’s permissive society, black power, and the yellow schoolbus.

I had just come back from an incident with the police and a snowmobile when Pat Cadell called from New York, saying that he was with a bunch of New York Times reporters in a bar and they were curious to know what I thought about what Clinton had to say about marijuana - that he had tried it in college but "didn't inhale." I was embarrassed. What do you mean, "didn't inhale?" What the hell do you think we smoke it for? I said "Only a fool would say a thing like that. It's just a disgrace to an entire generation.

A few years later, in Inukjuak, I learned that SFU is the Inuit texting acronym for "snowmobile fucked up," and that POOS is the acronym for "passed out on snowmobile.

This is a mere dream dreamed in a bad time, an Up Yours to the people who ride snowmobiles, make nuclear weapons, and run prison camps by a middle-aged housewife, a critique of civilisation possible only to the civilised, an affirmation pretending to be a rejection, a glass of milk for the soul ulcered by acid rain, a piece of pacifist jeanjacquerie, and a cannibal dance among the savages in the ungodly garden of the farthest West

The snowmobiles were out in force on Iron Lake, zipping about the ice like ants frenzying on a frosted cake. In summer it was motorboats and Jet Skis and sailboats. No matter what the season the lake had little peace.

Whereas penetration most often means that industry demand will level off, for durable goods, achieving penetration can lead to an abrupt drop in industry demand. After most potential customers have purchased the product, its durability implies that few will buy replacements for a number of years. If industry penetration has been rapid, this situation may translate into several very lean years for industry demand. For example, industry sales of snowmobiles, which underwent very rapid penetration, fell from 425,000 units per year in the peak year (1970-1971) to 125,000 to 200,000 units per year in 1976-1977.6 Recreational vehicles underwent a similar though not quite so dramatic decline. The relation between the growth rate after penetration and growth before penetration will be a function of how fast penetration has been reached and the average time before replacement, and this figure can be calculated.

(...) and now only fragments of conversation would come back every now and again. "Goldie is, like, such a good dog, and he was a purebred retriever, if only my dad would say okay, he wags his tail whenever he sees me. "It's Christmas, he has to let me use the snowmobile. "You can write your name with your tongue on the side of his thing. "I miss Sandy. "Yeah, I miss Sandy too. "Six inches tonight they said, but they just make it up, they make up the weather and nobody ever calls them on it...

while the guilty discharge of carbon dioxide from twenty return flights and snowmobile rides and sixty hot meals a day served in polar conditions would be offset by planting three thousand trees in Venezuela as soon as a site could be identified and local officials bribed.

All this wandering that you do," he said, leaning in the window, his face white as a cream cheese, his scar the carved zigzag of a snowmobile across a winter lake. Wind blew handsomely through his hair. "How will anyone ever get close to you?" "I don't know," she said. She shook his hand through the window and then put on her gloves.

As a kid, snow served the useful purpose of closing schools. As an adult—it shuts down any activity a decent, suntanned person over the age of thirty-five enjoys. I don’t do snow forts, snowballs, snow angels, snowmen, snowmobiles, or snowshoes. I don’t like to walk in it, drive in it, ski on it, or sled on it. Other than that, snow is just ducky.

Right by the Arctic Circle, the city of Rovaniemi is a key draw for visitors, with various Santa Claus attractions (the red-suited saint officially resides here) and numerous tours and activities, ranging from reindeer-farm visits to snowmobiling safaris, dog sledding with huskies and various high-adrenaline adventures. Rovaniemi has a small ski area, but the best skiing is at Pyhä-Luosto. Elsewhere you can hike, take an ice-breaker cruise, stay in a winter snow castle and go berry picking in summer.

This time he asks his audience to join him in a mental exercise. As Boyd states, Imagine that you are on a ski slope with other skiers [. . .]. Imagine that you are in Florida riding in an outboard motorboat, maybe even towing water-skiers. Imagine that you are riding a bicycle on a nice spring day. Imagine that you are a parent taking your son to a department store and that you notice he is fascinated by the toy tractors or tanks with rubber caterpillar treads’.38 Now imagine that you pull the ski’s off but you are still on the ski slope. Imagine also that you remove the outboard motor from the motor boat, and you are not longer in Florida. And from the bicycle you remove the handle- bar and discard the rest of the bike. Finally, you take off the rubber treads from the toy tractor or tanks. This leaves only the following separate pieces: skis, outboard motor, handlebars and rubber treads. However, he challenges his audience, what emerges when you pull all this together?39 SNOWMOBILE

He had only three days off, which meant our honeymoon was only two days. We went to Lake Tahoe, and one of the highlights was a snowmobile tour in the mountains. In theory, we had to ride our separate vehicles very placidly, with no horsing around. But Chris-or maybe it was me-discovered that by maneuvering carefully, it was possible to splash up a lot of snow, and as we went up to the top we managed to cover each other with snow. It was the sort of simple joy you vow to repeat as often as you can, even as you realize the moment will be impossible to duplicate. They were a great two days, though I wished there were more. I happened to be reading a book around that time that theorized that humans live through many lives. I asked Chris what he thought about the concept. Did he think he had many past lives? “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “That’s not in the Bible.” “No, it’s not.” “I guess anything’s possible,” he told me after a little thought. “I don’t think we have all the answers. But I do know this: if we get more than one life, I can’t wait to spend the rest of them with you.

Essay So many poems about the deaths of animals. Wilbur’s toad, Kinnell’s porcupine, Eberhart’s squirrel, and that poem by someone—Hecht? Merrill?— about cremating a woodchuck. But mostly I remember the outrageous number of them, as if every poet, I too, had written at least one animal elegy; with the result that today when I came to a good enough poem by Edwin Brock about finding a dead fox at the edge of the sea I could not respond; as if permanent shock had deadened me. And then after a moment I began to give way to sorrow (watching myself sorrowlessly the while), not merely because part of my being had been violated and annulled, but because all these many poems over the years have been necessary,—suitable and correct. This has been the time of the finishing off of the animals. They are going away—their fur and their wild eyes, their voices. Deer leap and leap in front of the screaming snowmobiles until they leap out of existence. Hawks circle once or twice around their shattered nests and then they climb to the stars. I have lived with them fifty years, we have lived with them fifty million years, and now they are going, almost gone. I don’t know if the animals are capable of reproach. But clearly they do not bother to say good-bye.

Mark came home late one frozen Sunday carrying a bag of small, silver fish. They were smelts, locally known as icefish. He’d brought them at the store in the next town south, across from which a little village had sprung up on the ice of the lake, a collection of shacks with holes drilled in and around them. I’d seen the men going from the shore to the shacks on snowmobiles, six-packs of beer strapped on behind them like a half dozen miniature passengers. “Sit and rest,” Mark said. “I’m cooking.” He sautéed minced onion in our homemade butter, added a little handful of crushed, dried sage, and when the onion was translucent, he sprinkled n flour to make a roux, which he loosened with beer, in honor of the fishermen. He added cubed carrot, celery root, potato, and some stock, and then the fish, cut into pieces, and when they were all cooked through he poured in a whole morning milking’s worth of Delia’s yellow cream. Icefish chowder, rich and warm, eaten while sitting in Mark’s lap, my feet so close to the woodstove that steam came off my damp socks.

It was a year-round, full-service lodge nestled away in one of the southside canyons, with snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, horseback riding, trout fishing, and hunting in season.

She was interrupted by Sig’s growling. The coyote had strayed away from the snowmobiles, pressing his nose to the ground. His hackles had risen and his ears were perked forward.

One day he just 'snapped.' That's Mom's word for what happened. Some brat yanked one too many times on his tail, and Grandpa Kenneth spun around and punted him halfway down Main Street USA. The kid's family sued Disney World for some insane amount of money, but by then Grandpa Kenneth and Grandma Janet had already packed up and moved to Moose Lick Saskatchewan, where they opened a snowmobile dealership and never laid eyes on another tourist. We've gone up to visit them two or three times, but they refuse to come down to the Keys. Grandpa Kenneth is sure that the Disney people will have him arrested if he ever sets foot in Florida.

I remember something Dad once did with a snowmobile, to make sure it didn’t get stolen. He pulled the main spark plug wire and took it with him. “No spark, no steal,” he said with a smile.

Love is like racing across the frozen tundra on a snowmobile which flips over, trapping you underneath. At night, the ice-weasels come.” —Matt Groening

Bryan nodded once, the snowmobile firing between my legs. I steeled myself for whatever we were going to come up on. As we rounded the corner, I instantly spotted Rick’s truck. It looked like he’d lost control, swerved across the road, hitting one side and then slamming front first into the embankment. The front tires were swallowed up by the deep ditch, leaving the truck tilted at a harsh angle. At least he won’t be driving after us, I soothed myself.

New Hampshire Haiku "Officer, how would I know the drunk driving laws apply to snowmobiles?

Not just the industrial farming but the sprawl, the sprawl, the sprawl. Low-density development is the worst. And SUVs everywhere, snowmobiles everywhere, Jet Skis everywhere, ATVs everywhere, two-acre lawns everywhere. The goddamned green monospecific chemical-drenched lawns.

Small, out-of-the-way county fairs were okay, with their traveling carny shows that might have been taken from a Stephen King short story, and their weird, idiosyncratic events like speed chain saw sculpture—one minute to do a four-foot bear—and snowmobile water-skipping. A big institutional fair was just that: institutional. Sure, deep-fried ice cream bars might be a good idea, but after you’ve eaten a few, then what?

Snowmachine: A snowmobile in most of the rest of the English-speaking world.  Also a test to see if you are from Alaska, i.e. do you say ‘snowmachine’ or ‘snowmobile’? Sourdough:

He knew why he was angry. Tory got angry when she cared; he got angry when he felt powerless. At Christmas, he had come to understand how people around here were basically powerless, how their cars and snowmobiles were substitutes for power. And that's why so many of them got angry easily, because they didn't have any control over what was happening to them.

Oh well, what was a pair of poles when you could fly? The snowmobile roared across the ice and she followed behind, the world’s fastest princess with her hair streaming in the wind. And now she could joik clearly; the sound of the snowmobile drowned it out and guarded her secret. It was just her, the ice, and her lands.

him. That in itself was deeply worrying. It was Jeff, one of our mountaineers, who followed a snowmobile track to an unobtrusive hole. He then came back and got Lance, the team’s other mountaineer, looking

Reading is not a particularly popular pastime—hence the warm welcome the majority of the population has extended to such things as snowmobiles, tape decks, and citizen band radios.

Tracked All-Terrain Suicide Machine. The Royal Chariot – Contraption. If a snowmobile got drunk on moonshine and had a sweaty, ill-advised night with a hillbilly’s coon-hunting ATV, this oversized birth defect of a vehicle would be the result.

To a social animal, trust is like lubrication. It reduces friction and creates conditions much more conducive to performance, just like putting the snowmobile back in the snow. Do that and even an underpowered snowmobile will run circles around the most powerful snowmobile in the wrong conditions. It’s not how smart the people in the organization are; it’s how well they work together that is the true indicator of future success or the ability to manage through struggle.

Gulmarg in December is a winter wonderland nestled in the heart of the Indian Himalayas. As the first snowflakes blanket the landscape, the entire region transforms into a picturesque paradise. The quaint town of Gulmarg becomes a hub for snow enthusiasts, offering a myriad of activities such as skiing, snowboarding, and snowshoeing. The Gulmarg Gondola, one of the highest cable cars in the world, provides breathtaking views of the snow-capped peaks. Adventure-seekers can also explore the pristine forests on snowmobiles or enjoy a serene horse-drawn sledge ride. The cozy hotels and cottages offer warm hospitality and delicious Kashmiri cuisine, making Gulmarg in December an idyllic destination for a winter getaway amidst nature's splendor. click here to book now-

For the next couple of hours the dark mass of the primeval forest whisked past my peripheral vision, thick and tall, the white-painted trees soaring into the cerulean sky like watchful sentinels. This was an apt metaphor because watched was exactly how I felt. I didn’t know why. Zero animal life populated the woods. Not a single moose, elk, bird, or deer. I suppose the uncanny sensation might have been due to the profound silence that pervaded the winter day, which the whine of the snowmobile engines only seemed to accentuate. It was the same silence I’d experienced outside Fyodor’s cabin. What had I called it then? Predatory? Yes, predatory. It insinuated something primordial, something threatening and patient that didn’t jive with the modern cacophony of honking car horns, coffee-shop chatter, TV news anchors rambling off the day’s events, radio DJs counting down top-ten lists. In place of all this existed…nothing, a void…and on an existential level that was alien and frightening and, yes, predatory. It hinted at death and reinforced the simple fact that we didn’t belong here. Disco, Olivia, Vasily, me. Not even Fyodor.

Kathryn’s plane landed with a hard thud on the ice shelf which was flatter than the area closer to the crack. They came to a stop and the propellers slowed to an idling speed. Anderson’s men threw open the door and rolled a ladder outward for the exiting team. At the rear of the fuselage, they unlocked and opened a large custom door, which allowed them to slide the snowmobiles out and down a steep ramp. Next, were the food, bags, and fuel, which also slid down the ramp with a hard thud. Kathryn’s guide was a large man named Andrew with light hair who, judging from his tattoos, appeared to be ex-military. He jumped out and helped pull the equipment out. Andrew gave a thumbs-up to the other crewmembers onboard and pulled the large sled of equipment toward one of the snowmobiles.

Then there’s that deranged group that thinks snowmobiling through a huge drift at excessive speeds – actually going so fast that they manage to get air when they hit a drift at just the right angle – is a fantastical experience.

Papa suffered from snowbilitis, a common malady above the fiftieth parallel, what with the north pressing down on you and winter somehow or other needing to be tamed.

snowmobile

I personally did more than one hundred search and rescue flights for overdue boats and snowmobiles etc. over the years, often in less than ideal weather conditions, and never once sent a bill to any of the families concerned, I was just pleased I could help.

Ralph's Motorsports is one of the largest Arctic Cat®, Suzuki, Kawasaki and Toro dealerships in Alberta. However, we started as a mom n' pop Arctic Cat snowmobile shop back in 1970, just north of Calgary, in Beiseker, Alberta. Our success has been based on our commitment to customer service. This has been a big year of growth for Ralph's Motorsports! Not only have we welcomed Suzuki ATVs and Suzuki Motorcycles to our line up, we are now Calgary's newest Kawasaki dealer! As of November, you'll find Kawasaki Motorcycles, ATVS, UTVs and Jet Skis gracing our showroom floor alongside our Arctic Cat snowmobiles, Arctic Cat and Suzuki ATVs, UTVs, Suzuki Motorcycles and Toro lawn mowers! We may have grown exponentially since 1970, but we haven't lost focus of where we came from, and what has gotten us here! Don't forget to check out our new motorsports online shopping experience - Motorsportsgear.ca. And our service center is staffed with nothing but experts, who are all specially trained in motorsports repairs, and lawn & garden maintenance. 262117 Balzac Blvd Balzac, AB T4B 2T3 Toll-Free: 877.972.5747

The cold not only bears down on human bodies, but also bends sound. The forest sits under an inversion, chilled air pooling under a warmer cap. The colder air is like molasses for sound waves, slowing them as they pass, causing them to lag sound travelling in higher, warmer air. The difference in speed turns the temperature gradient into a sound lens. Waves curve down. Sound energy , instead of dissipating in a three dimensional dome, is forced to spread in two dimensions, spilling across the ground, focusing its vigor on the surface. What would have been muffled, distant sounds leap closer, magnified by the jeweler’s icy loupe. The aggressive whine of the snowmobile mingles with the churr and chip of red squirrels and chickadees. Here are modern and ancient sunlight, manifest in the boreal soundscape. Squirrels nipping the buds of fir trees, chickadee poking for hidden seeds and insects, all powered by last summer’s photosynthesis; diesel and gasoline, sunlight squeezed and fermented for tens or hundreds of millions of years, now finally freed in an exultant engine roar. Nuclear fusion pounds its energy into my eardrums, courtesy of life’s irrepressible urge to turn sunlight into song.

Let’s face it, if you don’t like curling or snowmobiling, there isn’t a lot else to do in a small town in the dead of an Ontario winter. But in June? Hockey should have been done months ago.

Aircraft, snowmobiles, and ATVs disturb a range of animals from harlequin ducks to mountain goats. Stress enzyme levels in both elk and wolves rose in direct proportion to the amount of snowmobile noise; enzyme levels returned to normal when snowmobiles were absent.

The groomed trail was narrow, and there was about an inch of ice on both sides. My right ski went under the ice sheet, and I fell over on my face. My forehead, cheeks, lips, and chin were slashed. We radioed Dr. Lukash and learned that he was treating Superintendent McFadden, who had had a spill and cut his face even more severely. I rode back to Camp David on a snowmobile, bleeding badly. Dr. Lukash treated all the superficial cuts on my face, and we skied the next day. The big problem was that I was scheduled to make a speech at Georgia Tech on Tuesday. We called Lillian Brown, who was a superb artist with cosmetics, and she applied several layers of greasepaint and powder and accompanied me to Atlanta. I got through the ordeal without embarrassment, but I had to be careful to avoid any broad smiles, which caused the thick makeup to crack.

If you want tits - get tits. If you want a vagina - get one. If you want a snowmobile - get a snowmobile. It's not important! Jesus H. Christ on a bicycle!

On it, a vehicle is parked, a black snowmobile, and behind its handlebars sits a man in a white snowsuit. What is he doing all the way up there?