As dusk settled one evening during my seventh-grade year, classmate Terry made an unexpected stop at my house while walking home from school after dark. He asked if I could give him a ride home on my snowmobile. He lived across the bay and the lake was frozen over so it would be a quick trip. Mom said I could, so I geared up and off we went. After dropping him off I made my way back to the lake and started across it. Wide open throttle took me quickly across the frozen surface toward my home shore.
Landowners with lakefront property would cut out wide rectangular sections of ice, a way out from shore, so the building pressure of expanding ice would not push their land up into mounds.
As I approached the snow-covered lawns, I heard what sounded like a voice that said, “Turn.” I shook it off, but it repeated. Then a third time. “TURN!” I turned hard right, and my left ski crossed over a cut-out corner of the ice, and I saw water to my left as I raced by on the machine. I didn’t splash into the deep water that dark night because I heard a voice, yes, I heard it three times, but I turned…I finally listened and acted. I showed up…