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Most avid snowmobilers believe that where the trail ends the real fun begins. One dubious but popular local activity is high-marking, an amusement that thrives in inverse proportion to good sense. High-markers seek steep slopes covered by fresh powder, and there they play chicken with the laws of gravity, full-throttling uphill until the moment when either they turn back down the slope or their sleds topple. While high-marking obviously involves a certain quotient of brawn and athleticism — demanding more finesse than, say, competitive peeing for distance — it was most aptly characterized, for me anyway, as "a perfect example of what happens to people's brains when they get a big machine between their legs." A successful day of high-marking is one in which the rider spends no time underneath his sled, the snowmobile itself emerges undamaged, and no one has triggered an avalanche.
Having seen my share of wilderness torn up, abused and otherwise unnecessarily defaced and even destroyed by motorized, roaring, stinking, bonehead-transporting devices, I got some satisfaction out of reading this article by Mark Singer, in the New Yorker.
March 21, 2002 2:42 PM
HOLD MY BEER EH?
HE WHO HESITATES IS STUCK
MANUALLY OPERATED TRANSPORTATION IS FOR VEGITARIANS
KILL IT AND GRILL
ITS ALL FUN AND GAMES TILL YOUR BLEEDING THEN ITS FUN
Posted by DAVE on July 16, 2002 11:52 PM
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