Grand Prix for Snowmobiles

Like grizzled combat veterans, the survivors of the first day's run clustered last week at the bar in an Alexandria, Minn., lodge. Belting down tumblers of Jim Beam and Pabst, they compared horror stories: a burnt-out piston, a broken ski, a torn suspension, a collision with a tree. Their bright thermal suits were splotched with oil, eyes were red from fatigue, and windburned faces were scratched from encounters with barbed wire and flying stones. Some hobbled, others seemed permanently hunched from their battle. The weary combatants had just completed the opening day of one of sport's most grueling events, the St. Paul Winter Carnival's 12th International Snowmobile Race--a 576-mile, four-day, open-throttled marathon from St. Paul to Winnipeg, Man.

Early that morning the 335 starting drivers had pulled on hockey shin guards, corset-like plastic chest protectors, and all the cold-weather gear they could wear and still waddle to the starting line. Temperatures were in the low 20s, balmy by St. Paul standards, but at the 80-m.p.h. speeds the racers would soon be traveling, the wind-chill factor would make it seem like --20DEG. Some of the drivers fashioned long tape-and-rubber noses to keep the vapor of their breath from fogging their goggles. Others applied wide strips of tape to their faces to ward off frostbite. Then, setting off in waves of ten, three minutes apart, they were on their way.

The arduous route, which led the snowmobilers along busy, narrow roads, through woods and across ditches, quickly took its toll. A light covering of snow was soon worn away by early starters. Coarse, rutted ditches caused spills; unexpected rocks forced some sleds to veer into guardrails and trees. One driver was hit by a car; ten others got lost on a lake. At day's end only 172 contestants remained in the race.

Rules limited each driver to two mechanics, who could work on his battered vehicle for just two hours a day. Some drivers carried spare parts in the trunks of cars driven by friends and made their own repairs. For the big factory teams, there were designers and mechanics on call in 40-ft., parts-stuffed support vans. The difference between the amateurs and the pros was evident in other ways; the John Deere team, in training for three months, was forbidden the nightly boilermakers and sat off to the side of each stop, drinking ginger ale and plotting strategy.

As the race barreled northward toward Canada, the snow grew deeper and the trail became a successive range of steep moguls. In the drifting snow, the racers bobbed and weaved, plunging from view only to emerge again and fly across a farmer's driveway or a roadside culvert. Occasionally they would tear onto the shoulder of the road, skimming around a car or truck before hurtling back into the ditch. Driving a 450-lb. snowmobile at high speed on rough terrain is like riding a brahma bull--an exercise in keen judgment and balance. As Driver Al Bergquist, an Illinois farmer in his saner moments, told TIME Correspondent Dick Woodbury, "You're whipping along at 70 m.p.h. and you charge over a hill, and you just don't know what's there."

The Limit. On the fourth morning, as the 82 remaining racers waited at Thief River Falls, Minn., to begin the final 148-mile sprint to Winnipeg, a wave of fierce Arctic air--accompanied by a blizzard--swept in. Temperatures plummeted to --16DEG, and the 30 m.p.h.-wind blew the snow horizontally across the frigid landscape. Even snowmobilers have their limit. Officials called off the race and awarded first-prize money ($10,500) to the contestant with the best time for three days (9:39:43), 19-year-old Archie Simonson of Grand Forks, N. Dak. Simonson has already earmarked a share of his earnings for a worthy cause: medical treatment for his frostbitten chin and knee.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.