January is the anniversary of Sex Icon Magazine! Two years this month since I tried to make a newsletter for my friends and things got glamorous. To celebrate I revamped this story that has only even been read by those who bought a copy of my first ever issue and read all about my sea voyage in Norway in 2016.
I hope you enjoy the story and some never before posted photos and selfies from that trip!
You love the atmosphere of snow. Snowy streets, a snowy forest trail. The squeak and crunch of boots as they step. The feel of being inside the safety of a secret - a whole, warm universe of your own - when you’ve layered well. But wheels don’t crunch through snow. Gloves that keep you warm mean you can’t grip your rims, which get wet with snow melt and make the sleeve of whatever coat you wear also wet. You can crawl through snow, you can gaze at winter wonderlands through windows. You can ski through it if you have access to incredibly expensive and rarely available equipment. You can bundle up in sleeping bags and layers of wool and sit out on the deck of a ship and watch islands wearing winter sail by.
In January of 2015 you were at sea on the Hurtigruten in Norway for 10 days. Crossing into the Arctic Circle. Hunting Northern lights. You made many friends on board. You are still friends with your Northern Adventure Gang.
Your ship - the Trollfjord - wasn’t just for cruising. The Hurtigruten is still the main way the islands it sails past get mail and goods and how locals commute from one town to another. To get off-ship you got to use the giant cargo doors. Sailors would pause in their offloading or onloading of stuff and let you roll off and onto a waiting excursion bus. The cargo hold also had a whole stash of Norwegian kicksleds.
For years, when the season would turn, you would say, “I want to get pulled through the snow in a sled!” But the moment was never right. There was no sled, or not enough snow, or the spirit wasn’t right. And then spring would come and you had not been sledded through the snowy landscape. And then, you discovered the kicksleds in the cargo hold. There was perfectly packed snow for sledding. You had free time in Hammersfest. And the Good Brit had the right spirit. He agreed to hoof you around town on a Norwegian sled.
You traded wheels for metal tracks. You wore the family fur. You would not need to move your arms so you could cocoon as deeply as the wardrobe you packed would allow.
Not being used to the Kicksled the Good Brit and you opted to ride down the middle of the road, stopping traffic, attracting paparazzi. Along the coastline, you felt the undulations of the icy terrain as you swifted over it. The sound of your breath taking shape in the freezing air, the Good Brit’s boots squeaking on the packed snow.
He pushed you up a hill to look at the outside of a very nice church. Looking down he mused, “How exactly does one break this thing?”
There were several streets of cross traffic to dodge on the way to the bottom. But the Good Brit made expert use of weight distribution to avoid oncoming traffic and you readied yourself for an emergency bail.
At the last corner, at the street that lead back to the ship, you came to a fairly effective halt right at the feet of a fellow passenger.
“Where did you get that?” She asked.
“The ship has them!” you told her.
“For you?”
“For EVERYONE!” you proclaimed.
She smiled and shook her head, “You have a way of… asking for things.”
You fixed her in your smoldering gaze. “It doesn’t take a special way. You just have to know you can. Now you know. So, at the next port, go to reception and ask. Then you can glide along the icy sea shore, too.”
You’ve been asking friends and strangers at the first sight of snow to help you make this happen for years. The magic on this day was that a willing adventure buddy and the right equipment were in the same place at the same time. And you were still asking.
