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“I just broke my neck. I was lying on my back in the snow, wearing a full-face motorcycle helmet. I could hear the snowmobile idling next to me. It sat upright and intact, waiting for me to hop back on, squeeze the throttle, and join my friends doing figure eights in the powdery wonderland that is Montana in the winter. But I couldn’t jump up, and I would never ride a snowmobile again. My neck was broken.

The snap of the bone had sounded like a muffled gunshot in my ears. I remember seeing the ditch beyond the berm at the last second, followed by a vague sinking feeling as I processed that I was going much too fast to stop. I had felt myself rising out of the saddle the way you would if gravity were turned off, bringing me to a standing position in the air; and then, as though a dream were ending, the ground had come toward me much too quickly. The snowmobile met the earth on the front skis, and my body crumpled against the handlebars just before it was discarded onto the snow.

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