The Snowmobile Incident
This is a story that Tim’s likely wanted to share with Unqualified Opinions readers for years, but he knows I’d kill him if he did. If that sounds like a threat, keep reading. Tim’s the reason I almost killed Permanent Equity’s founder Brent Beshore.
Technically, Brent is my boss. He’s been my boss for almost two decades, which means I’ve stopped counting the years precisely because, while age is just a number, no one (or me) wants to feel old. Over our careers, we’ve had lots of adventures, and fortunately, most have been positive.
But one time, I almost killed him. Not in a figurative sense. That’s happened too many times to count (the inverse is also likely true). No, this was in the literal sense.
In my defense, I wasn’t trying to kill Brent. I was trying to not kill Tim.
But let’s start from the beginning.
When a team grows, it can be a worthwhile investment for that team to spend time together building trust. That was the ambition of a group retreat to rural Wyoming several years ago.
We went to a beautiful ranch with delicious food, wide open spaces, and lots of activities from which to choose. Some of the activities required waivers. One such activity happened to be snowmobiling.
I’m one of those people who reads waivers thoroughly before signing. So I was the one who warned everyone before this particular group excursion that we needed to be extremely careful with the snowmobiles because they had a replacement value of $17,500 each. It turns out I was the only one who needed to heed that warning.
Our group set out with two guides to explore a park’s mountain range on snowmobiles. The setting was picturesque, but have I mentioned that I don’t like heights? And also that I’d never driven a snowmobile before?
We had barely gained any elevation before the group stopped to discuss where we planned to head up and make sure everyone felt comfortable on their snowmobiles. I was towards the back of the group, and had stopped short of the circle just to give us all space.
But one of the guides, thinking I couldn’t hear him, motioned for me to come closer to the group. I tried pushing the throttle just a bit, but I didn’t move. It turns out I had settled in a bit of a snowbank.
So, being the experienced snowmobile driver I am, I pushed harder. And that’s when I learned, through experience, what a “whisky throttle” is.
A whisky throttle is when you shoot out like a rocket, going airborne.
As I was unintentionally flying through the sky, the only thing I could see was what I was headed towards. And I was headed towards Tim. He was off his snowmobile, standing, and it looked like I was going to hit him with a 500-pound projectile.
So I did the only thing I could think to do, which was to turn my body as hard as I could to the left side, sending the snowmobile on its side and changing its trajectory.
What I didn’t account for was what was outside of my field of vision. And that was Brent. He was still on his snowmobile. And while this may sound like it took a long time, it took mere seconds, and before I knew it, my snowmobile crashed into the back half of his on its side.
With half my body in the snow, all I could do was look up and see if he was still intact. Thankfully, he was. The snowmobiles had collided, but I’d missed his leg by a couple inches.
He, of course, was looking down at me, likely wondering why I tried to kill him. Finding myself in such an embarrassing, expensive, and ridiculous situation, I became distraught.
My initial reaction was not, of course, to apologize. I believe I said something like, “Don’t be smug.” Grace under pressure at its finest. And his rational reply was, “You just hit me!” (Understandably, I think he was shocked by what had happened.)
The guides were able to untangle the snowmobiles, explained the whisky throttle concept, and generally found the whole thing extremely amusing. We then went on with the expedition, with me terrified of crashing the snowmobile again – or going off the side of the mountain.
We were rewarded towards the end of our treacherous journey as a moose appeared on the path, trotting alongside us for several minutes.
So, nobody died. And somehow the guides fixed the snowmobile well enough that they didn’t charge me for crashing it. And we met a moose.
But I don’t drive motorized equipment on work trips anymore. And we haven’t been on a retreat in a while…
People usually get a kick out of this story. I can’t say it’s my favorite, but, you know…
Perspective matters, figuratively and literally.
– Emily
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