Every February, three friends leave behind their ordinary lives for one weekend in Gaylord.
Denise runs a restaurant. Carla teaches third grade. Michelle works in an office and dreams about quitting every Thursday.
Denise began the annual tradition after the three friends went an entire year seeing each other only at birthday dinners where everyone had to leave early. Once a winter they reserve a weekend and refuse to fill it with obligations. Gaylord became the destination because it was far enough away to feel like leaving and close enough to manage without a grand expedition. Carla packs neatly, down to the Somewhere Up North pennant she pins above the bed every year. Denise brings the sort of snack selection associated with long international travel. Michelle arrives with a bag stuffed with clothes she won't need and no idea where her gloves are. On Saturday, the guide briefs them on helmets, trail signals, speed, permits and the route. They listen carefully. Michelle, usually the most cautious, asks the most questions about handling the machine. She has spent months doing the responsible thing—finishing projects, paying bills, answering emails—and the idea of concentrating entirely on a snowy trail appeals to her more than she'd expected.
At the first trail junction, the guide stops the group and checks that everyone is comfortable. Michelle says she'd like to continue, surprising Denise, who had half expected her to ask for an early return to the lodge at Treetops Resort. Carla points out a line of animal tracks disappearing between the trees. For a few minutes they enjoy a different kind of silence: three people standing in snow, engines off, surrounded by the scent of pine. It reminds them of the weekends they used to spend exploring state parks in their twenties, when none of them imagined that an uninterrupted Saturday could become a luxury. Michelle confesses that she almost canceled this year because of a work deadline. Denise says she would have driven to Michelle's house and put her in the car herself. Carla says she would have brought the good snacks. They put their helmets back on, laughing, and continue at the guide's measured pace.
The ride isn't a wild race. The guide sets a controlled pace along the marked Otsego County trails, and the women find different pleasures in it. Carla notices tiny animal tracks at the side of the trail. Denise keeps looking toward places where sunlight breaks through the firs. Michelle loves how completely the engine noise replaces the mental clutter she's carried from work. They stop at a safe turnout, remove their helmets, and discover their cheeks are all the same brilliant red. Michelle says she hasn't felt so alert in months. The others exchange a look. They know she has been quietly miserable in her job but hates being asked whether she is okay. Over dinner at Snowbelt Brewing Co., she says she's thinking about applying for a different position and maybe taking a few classes. Denise asks what she'd study. Michelle grins and says anything that doesn't involve reviewing spreadsheets at midnight. They don't turn the conversation into a rescue plan. They raise their mugs and order another flatbread. When she announces the snowmobile-buying idea later, they know it's probably a fantasy. They're still delighted to hear her imagining something new.
Michelle says she's thinking about buying a snowmobile.
They all stare at her.
"What?" she says. "I have hobbies now."
Setting artwork is illustrative; it does not depict the story’s cast or document an event.