Dads should not always be trusted

My dad is considered a world class snowmobiler. I, on the other hand, am not, but I do try to go snowmobiling with my family whenever I have a chance. While I was in Idaho for Christmas, my dad took my mom, me, and my little sister, Cheyenne, snowmobiling in the mountains on Christmas Eve. It was the perfect day to be out- the snow was fresh, the sun was out (despite the valley being covered in fog), and there was hardly anybody else on the snow. It was one of those days when you feel like the mountains were made just for you. After a couple of hours we decided to head back to the truck. I was pretty proud of myself for being the only member of my family other than my dad who hadn't fallen off of their snowmobile or tipped it over. We followed my dad down the mountain through the trees maintaining a good distance between each snowmobile so that we wouldn't slide into each other. My mom and dad stopped ahead of me where there was a bit of a drop-off from the hillside onto the main trail. Somehow my dad was able to get his and my mom's snowmobiles over the ledge without crashing. My view was blocked by trees so I couldn't exactly see how he had done it, but they were stopped on the trail below waiting for me so I thought I would just let my dad guide me when I got down there. I drove down and stopped just before the drop-off, which was much bigger than I had expected- my dad was standing below and the top of the ledge was a few feet above his head. He motioned for me too just keep coming. I thought, "this can't work, but if he says it will, I guess it will." I trusted my dad despite my intuition and drove straight off the ledge. I did a somersault off of the snowmobile and landed flat on my back while my mom, dad, and Cheyenne laughed their faces off. It looked something like this (don't judge my artwork):