The journey had become as much about the snowmobiling community as the miles themselves.
nities or relied on routes no longer maintained. We wanted to complete the entire loop under our own power, and that meant finding a way through. The route west became a patchwork of hydro-lines, forest roads, local trails, and improvised connections. When we finally reached Shabaqua, relief washed over us. The seemingly impossible section was behind us, and completing the loop finally felt inevitable. More than 100 miles remained before the U. S. border, followed by miles of forest roads and relentless moguls. After days of breaking trail, the rough groomed routes presented a different kind of challenge. As Jake’ s dad used to say,“ Real men don’ t complain about chop.” So we didn’ t. We spotted two moose, which provided one final reminder of the wild country we’ d crossed before we reached Hungry Jack Lodge in Minnesota that evening.
With the hardest miles behind us, we finally relaxed and began to appreciate what we’ d accomplished. After days of remote riding and connecting routes many thought impossible, we reached Duluth for our final night on the road. Only one last ride remained.
CLOSING THE LOOP
On the morning of February 23, we climbed aboard the sleds for one final ride. We arrived home with 2,078 miles behind us, completing the Lake Superior loop in 11 days without a trailer, just hours before local trails closed for the season.
For more than a decade, the idea had evolved from a conversation among friends into an obsession fueled by maps, GPS tracks, and late-night planning. Now it was real. But the greatest rewards weren’ t measured in miles. They were the people who helped us, the communities that welcomed us, and the friendships strengthened along the way. Lake Superior was the destination, but the journey was about discovering what’ s possible when you venture beyond the established path. Sometimes the best adventures begin where the trail ends.
28 DECEMBER 2026 | SNOWGOER. COM