I had snowmobiled with my wife. I had snowmobiled with my buddies. Until the weekend before the Super Bowl, I had never snowmobiled (or vacationed) with my wife and my friends at the same time. My third trip to Jackson Hole’s winter trails brought the best trail conditions I’ve had yet—a great introduction to those in our group who’d never ridden a snowmobile or vacationed in the Rockies.
We snapped this shot after our group prayer huddle on a bridge over Greys River. We were about to have a day far more eventful than I had expected. Half of this circle had never been on a snowmobile. Ironically, it was the half with experience that returned home with injuries.
I’ve had better sandwiches in my life than whatever I grabbed from the grocery store deli the night before. But lunches taste better when you eat them in the backcountry. And even if they don’t, cuisine levels don’t matter when your friends are sharing their joy about the experience you’re sharing.
The food at the Box Y Ranch is so good, it steals your sense of urgency to get back on the trail. The proprietor made us a batch of warm cookies for free, adding to the magic of our adventurous day.
After we put our sleds away for the weekend, we stopped at a Teton overlook before heading back into town for dinner. Every group I take on an adventure leaves me better than it found me, and this selection of souls proved no exception. I’m grateful for the examples of these husbands and the contagious courage of these wives. Mark Twain said, “I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” Turns out, I like these folks.
Nobody leaned into their fears and discomfort more than these two ladies. Others of us rode faster and jumped higher, but none of us overcame anxiety as Crystal and Leah did. They were gracious to wait for the rest of us when we pulled over to play off-trail—and even cheered us on. They shone as examples of selflessness and kindness. They proved the travel writer, Tim Cahill, true when he said, “A journey is best measured in friends rather than miles.”
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This was the first trip to Jackson Hole on which we never had to dig out a snowmobile. Part of that was due to the lack of snow off-trail—from the driest winter in a decade and the warmest winter ever in Jackson Hole. But part of that was due to us taking chances only where the snow was shallow. Five of us got our sleds off the ground. All of us marveled at the surroundings made unique by the lack of snow on the trees.
This is the picture that made it onto the postcards to my nephews. They’ll think it’s impressive. The reality is that I chickened out every time I approached this jump, making me the only attempter who didn’t get daylight under my track. Philosophers and preachers will tell you that comparison is the thief of joy, but context has time and again proven to me a benevolent giver of humility.
Jacob Bumgarner is the man. He showed us what “FULL SEND” looks like.
If you click here, you’ll see video evidence that Jacob stuck the landing on his biggest jump.
Courtney didn’t back down from a challenge. She outraced all of us dudes (especially me) through the trees and put some daylight under her tracks. I love that in the video of this jump, Jacob marvels at his wife with, “DANG!”
Jeremiah had never been on a snowmobile until a few hours before he took his sled airborne. I think he’s hooked on snowmobiling now.
JR let us know that airtime wasn’t just for those in their 30s and 40s. He proved (1) that wisdom isn’t opposed to adventure and (2) that grandpas can drop the hammer.
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Someday, I’ll figure out why I love full moon nights so much. Until then, I’ll just soak them in. In my childhood, my autonomy came at most during school, at work, or on my Western Auto ten-speed bike. Now, I have freedom in almost every area of my life and often struggle with impulse control. I’ll eat the same meal four times in two days or scroll social media instead of getting needed sleep. So, maybe the magic of the moon arrives in its forced wait—my inability to summon a moment at my whim. Whatever the reason, I was super excited to have a full moon while in Jackson Hole.
Crystal and I walked around Jackson Hole, hand in hand, looking in art gallery windows. We watched ice skaters in the town square and snagged this photo under one of the four antler arches.
I don’t know if this moose likes full moons as much as I do, but he didn’t mind posing with one.
After I said goodnight to Crystal at the hotel, I drove out to a Teton overlook off the highway. I listened to music that spoke truth over my heart and marveled at the glow of the famous peaks. The moment was meant for me as no cars passed along that stretch of highway for a good ten minutes. I had the place to myself. There are moments in my life seemingly sprinkled with pixie dust, and this felt like one of those sovereign gifts.
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Crystal and I invited two couples who lead marriage ministry small groups, as well as a pair of marriage counselors, onto our first-ever couples adventure trip. This is where the narrator’s voice breaks the fourth wall and says, “You might need that context later.”
On the first morning, I led the group to “Prayer Bridge,” the span over Greys River on which I always ask someone to bless the day of scenic riding ahead. On the way there—unrecognized by me—my backpack fell off my sled. Crystal stopped to pick it up and didn’t make it to the rendezvous point until well after I had expected. Not knowing the situation with the backpack, I insensitively told her she’d need to ride faster for the sake of the group.
After Jacob led the group out of the prayer huddle, I walked into the woods to empty my bladder, knowing the group of mostly rookie riders would be easily catchable. Meanwhile, Crystal—for my sake—pushed herself beyond her comfort level, overshot a curve, left the trail, and ended up halfway between the groomed path and the river. I didn’t see this happen in front of me and wasn’t looking around as I sped to the next rendezvous point. When I arrived, everyone asked me where Crystal was. “She’s not with you guys!?”
I whipped around and sped back toward the trailhead. After a mile or two, I found Crystal standing next to the trail. I failed to ask her if she was okay, because I saw her standing and assumed she had just gotten her machine stuck somewhere. Initially, I failed to hug or comfort her, either—instead, first asking logistical questions. She showed me where her sled had landed after her wreck. She had knocked herself unconscious and sustained significant soft tissue damage in her shoulder, but she had remembered to pull the lanyard to cut the engine.
I sped back to the rental shop and got her a slower, wider (steadier) sled while the doctor in our group checked her over. To Crystal’s great credit, she rode with us the rest of the day and didn’t slow us down at all.
Probably due to the warm and dry conditions, we encountered only two or three groups of riders all day. While I was back at the shop, a group pulled up to Crystal’s precarious situation with a chainsaw, shovel, and an expert rider. They extricated the sled and saved me from needing to pay the rental company to retrieve her sled. (I rode it the rest of the day.)
Crystal has forgiven me for a lot over 25.5 years of marriage, but this (and the morning after it) will go in my Husband Hall of Shame. I let my insecurities rule my words and actions, and that never ends well. This kiss and smile were before she got back on a sled and rode for 5 more hours.
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It’s interesting what moments get photographed on a weekend getaway and the ones that reside only in internal memory.
I thought it was a big transition from my MINI Cooper to my Tacoma in 2024. That adjustment seemed small after this setup in Jackson Hole. For our second day of riding, we had to get the sleds to a trailhead an hour out of town. That required one of us to steer this dog-and-pony show. My name was on the rental agreement. So …
I’ve slept in a lot of airports, usually on the floor. So, I was grateful the Jackson Hole airport had a nap spot in front of a fire. Before I succumbed to unconsciousness, I overheard an unseen man on his phone telling someone that their mutual friend had out-kicked his coverage. Apparently, that shared friend wasn’t deserving of what Phone Guy called “Only Fans quality breasts.” If that’s what he’ll say in a public airport, I can only imagine what he’d say in a locker room or a car with a son or nephew. Worse yet, that makes me suspicious of what he’d do alone in a room with a woman and his back to that room’s exit. I hope that objectified wife never has to be alone in a room with Phone Guy.
It shouldn’t have rattled me as much as it did—not with jubilant male voters marching with “women are property” signs and others spouting “your body my choice” on podcasts, social media, and even in one of my local high schools the day after the 2024 presidential election. Permission rolls downhill. But I hope I never grow numb to that misogynist reality. And I hope to live a life antithetical to that so that every woman around me knows she is safe.
I can’t get enough of airports next to mountains, and I’ll take an airport where you must walk across a tarmac to your plane (almost) every time over one with jet bridges. I miss the days when flying out of Lynchburg included those outdoor strolls.
I’ve been told that when I was first learning how to talk, I got excited when a fire siren sounded. Apparently, that excitement led me to use a contraction of firetruck that didn’t use the “iretr.” 😂 I didn’t use that contraction when I saw these mega machines—not even when one of them powered up and drove around us. But the little boy inside me wished I could slip someone a twenty and ride shotgun.
It’s always a good sign when the plane is being secured with duct tape. That said, I’m glad they let us fly with that solution.
You know you’re in the right souvenir shop when the gigantic stuffed bear is wearing a sombrero.
