|Real Canadians Dog Sled,
is a mini version of the anchor attached to a
spring-loaded board at the back of the sled. In theory,
you drop your right leg down with sufficient force to
reduce your speed. I had enough force on that thing to
take a core sample below eight feet of frost but it
didnt do much good.
There had been a flash thaw a week previous. This had caused the snow levels to drop, forming a sheet of ice on this drop and exposing slashed stumps from the blazing of the trail. Ive never actually seen the spikes on a Malaysian tiger trap but I figure they couldnt have been much less deadly. I rode the brake while bouncing off sapling stumps at 50 kms/hr. Within a brief moment, I was experiencing that transcendental state that Burt called horizontal free fall. It was rapturous. My fears faded. I was enveloped in a sense of euphoria. Time stopped. Then I became one with a tree. Literally.
scene repeated itself three more times before I left the
tunnel of death, black and blue, clinging to the back of
my sled with one hand. My team dragged me 300 metres past
my waiting comrades on the lake before they figured I had
Five minutes into the trip and my sled and I looked as though wed been through a demolition derby. Burt pulled up beside me and chuckled. Marten wore a vacuous look of shock. As I dusted myself off, I whispered to Marten, "Did you think you were going to die back there?" "Yes," he replied. "Marten," I said, "we are dead men if the rest of the trip is like this." I woefully recalled the letter I had written, especially the part about the rough and tough adventure.
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