Alby - Polar Explorers

Polar Explorers

It was subtle, but I could see my father wince as a bolus of chemotherapy pulsed through him. He shivered and I ran to get a blanket, tucking it around him as he had done for me so many times. “Warmer now?” I asked.

“Couldn’t be better,” he answered. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

I went down the hall and got Alby a cup of boiling water and flavored it with a little lemon. It was an old Jewish remedy for upset stomachs that Alby swore by. I offered it to him and he held the cup near his face to feel the steam.

“I’m still cold,” he complained. I went behind the chair and put my arms around his waist, holding him. I figured that if I held on tightly enough, neither of us could fall.

“Please, Daddy, please? I really want to.”

It was our annual winter week at the Fallsview Hotel, a popular Catskills resort in Ellenville, New York. We went winter after winter, year after year, and every time we went I rejoiced in being there. Every inch of that hotel was home and as December turned into January into February, I would count the days until we’d make our pilgrimage.

This one year in particular the snow was deep and tightly packed and the snowmobiles were lined up in a queue by the lake, their motors humming a quiet rumble as they waited to be boarded.

“It’s too dangerous,” Mom said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Mom was always the worrier of the family and she excelled at it.

“Oh, come on Pearl, I’ll drive and Susan can just hold on behind me. I’ll go nice and slow, just kind of a ride through the woods to look at the scenery. Really, it’ll be fine.” She didn’t notice the twinkle in his eye but I did and I almost couldn’t keep my feet still in anticipation.

“Yeah Mom, pleeeease?” I gave my angelic look that I reserved for just such occasions.
Okay was barely out of her mouth than I was on the snowmobile and Alby was tucking the plaid woolen blanket around me. “Sit on it so it doesn’t blow off,” he instructed, wrapping me tightly.

“Now listen, we’re going to drive very slowly so that we can have a nice, pleasant ride. All you have to do is keep your arms around my waist, okay? Just hold on and don’t let go.” He said all of this within earshot of my mother. He winked at me, climbed on in front of me, and slowly pressed the gas. We pulled away from the base camp and as we rode, Alby said, “Smile and wave to Mom.” I did and she returned the wave, comfortable in the knowledge that her husband was going to take good care of her baby.

Yeah, right. The very moment we got into the woods, Dad stopped the snowmobile and turned to me.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I answered and with his hand pressing the throttle to its maximum speed, we took off. My long braids stood out behind me like flags in the wind as we raced along. Everything was a blur; trees whipped by at an amazing pace, their icy branches just barely missing the pom-pom on the top of my snow hat. Our speed made the frosty air feel as though my face was being pricked by toothpicks but I felt no pain. I was holding onto Alby and knew that getting hurt was impossible. I lived safe, warm and dry under my Alby Umbrella.

“Ride ‘em, Cowboy,” he screamed and I could hear him laugh above the deafening engine of the snowmobile. “Yee Hah!” He looped in and out of the woods and even the snow rabbits scurried for cover as we relentlessly carved new paths in the mountain. The pre-approved snowmobile trail was nowhere in sight and I felt like Alby and I were explorers in a new world, conquering undiscovered territories.

I can’t quite remember how much time had gone by, but when we left the woods and returned to the sedate trail which would bring us back to Base Camp, I still had my arms around his waist and rested my head on his back. There was such peace, such comfort. He radiated warmth through his winter jacket and even at that young age, I knew I had reached nirvana.

We pulled up to where Mom was standing. “Did you have fun?” she asked me as she bent down to straighten my hair and feel my hands to make sure that I wasn’t dying of frostbite.

“It was very nice,” I answered. Even so young I understood that sometimes errors of omission were necessary for détente.

“Oh yes, it was very nice,” my father echoed and as we walked back to the main lobby, Alby and I shared a conspiratorial smile.

Yup. It was very, very nice.