Between 1966 and 1970 (age 7-11 for me) we lived in Churchill, Manitoba. It's north of the 58th parallel, baby, and the Polar Bear Capitol of the World!

At the tender age of 10, I set out with a friend one fine day for a recreational ride, each of us on a yellow (now antique) Bombardier Skidoo. We each had the use of one and, as odd as it might sound, there was not much difference between two kids on their skidoos in Churchill and two kids on their bikes in an LA suburb. Except, we'd be the ones wearing parkas and mukluks.

We were just riding along when I heard a snort from behind a small rise and suddenly I found myself 40-50 feet from a very big, confused, and slightly perturbed mama bear (we saw one cub, there were probably two). For those who don't know, the largest recorded weight bears have been polar bears. I know, I know, grizzlies and browns get more attention but a full-grown polar bear standing up 50 feet away with a sneer on its face can have your wee tookie going 10 cents - 50 cents - 10 cents - 50 cents before it really registers how much trouble you're in. And, believe me, I was in it deep.

Let me pause to say that every year 2-3 people were mauled and killed by polar bears while I lived in Churchill. My Mom was a nurse so I got to hear, in full colour detail, the true delights of having a 1500-pound bear chew your head off. Let me assure you that the dangers of polar bears is one thing that every child in Churchill simply had to learn very, very quickly and the thought of being a "noggin nibbly" for mama bear, well ... you get the picture ... I had to be on my way.

I tossed my lunch bag at her which served to slow her down just long enough for me to twist the throttle on that tragically underpowered Skidoo. It might have had a centrifugal clutch for all I remember. Not one of the sparky high-tech toys of today, I can assure you.

My buddy had been several hundred feet away, and was already making a beeline for town. Good for him. I held no grudge. We were 10. We knew the drill. Mummy and Daddy would be some ticked off if we got eaten on a school night.

I followed in his compressed snow-track for best speed and rolled it on as best as I could. There was another snort. Mama bear was following me. Close, felt like 50 feet but might have been 100 feet or so with my slight head start.

Here's the stunning fact: a polar bear can run 30 friggin' miles per hour for a full mile before they even start to get tired.

I am able to sit and write this today because my skidoo also had a top speed of 30 miles an hour and I had a head start on packed snow.

I told no one and my friend and I swore each other to secrecy. No point in losing Skidoo privileges. A week later my Dad came home with a big smile on his face and dropped a photograph on the table. It seems some tourist nature photographer had captured (in glorious black and white) the slightly blurred image of a bear and a skidoo with the #23 on the Skidoo plainly visible. Yep, I was on trusty old #23.

Dad tried to be stern as Mom had a wee conniption but I think he was pretty proud of me in a weird sort of way. My mom still has the photo of course and one day I'll have it.

Bears. Hmmmph....

Be happy.