It was a beautiful, warmish, sun-brightened, remarkably nice, coming on springtime sort of a day, late in the season. A bunch of us climbed Mount Arab with our sleds, and then climbed the fire tower atop to look over the surrounding area. As the shadows lengthened we proceeded back to the vehicles parked near Lake Massawepie.
As we neared the lake Bert, Wendy, and myself steered down onto its frozen surface. We had about a mile of flat, frozen, level surface ahead so, of course, we cut ‘em loose. We were traveling at full throttle nearly neck and neck along our self-proclaimed race track. Suddenly we, all at about the same moment, spotted open water ahead. Mind you we were traveling at least 70 mph. The water seemed to be an opening coming in from the left. I was in the center with Bert to my left, and Wendy to my right. Bert headed toward the bank on his left. Wendy, headed to his right toward mid-lake. I followed Wendy.
Wendy and I continued on a few hundred feet to the end of the lake and stopped just past the water’s edge. Bert was nowhere to be seen. Wendy climbed a lifegaurd tower remaining from much warmer weather, looked around, and told me he couldn’t see any sign of Bert. I hollered as loud as I could, “Bert, where are you?”
A faint voice came from somewhere, “Over here in the water.”
Wendell and I raced back to the open water, but could see nothing. As we looked at each other, not knowing what to think, Bert’s voice spoke again, “I’m over here on shore, in a creek.”
Bert had made it to shore, but was traveling at such a high rate of speed he could not stop when he came to the creek that was creating the open water where it fed into the lake. His sled had went into the creek, and only the tail end was above water. The three of us hauled it out, and, believe it or not, that fool thing restarted and the three of us, much chagrined, rode slowly back to the vehicles.
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