Four Wheeling

I don't remember how old I was when we first got a four wheeler, but I remember taking it out to my dad's friends house to test drive it a bit. I remember long flat fields of dirt where Dad drove with one tire down in a wash out and one tire up on the bank, seeing how far over it could cant before getting wobbly. Climbing up a steep hill then back down, pausing just before the bottom and then reversing back up it, just for fun. Of course Ty and I both wanted to drive it every chance we got but that didn't happen much in the beginning. Instead, we would each sit behind Dad, one to each side over the rear tires. It had some sort of baggage rack on the back that was great for hanging on to desperately as we bumped and bounced, leaned and climbed along the back roads of Washington and Idaho, but it was not great for sitting. So Dad, being the improvising sort, came up with some sort of big square pads wrapped in canvas that he strapped down and life got better. I remember seeing deer and squirrels, chasing streams, and flying across fields. Deer were fun to chase, when we ran into moose we stopped and hoped that they wouldn't chase us in revenge of their smaller cousins. Sometimes Dad would load up the four "digger" and head out with his brother and friends. Those days we waited at home, sad to be left out, eager to see his return and hear stories. I remember, too, the first time he returned with a digger that looked more like a ball. Apparently the only way to find the limits of a machine is to exceed them. That was only the first of many times that repairs were needed after days of hard playing. I joke sometimes that my guardian angels are in really good shape from watching out for me, I'm sure they learned from my Dad's. As far as I recall, there were no serious injuries from all of their crazy adventures. Stories of being trapped under upside-down quads and later snowmobiles pinballing down mountainsides (that one was Uncle Brian). I wonder if Dad knows how many times he replaced or repaired the little speedometer that stuck up off the handlebars and was always the first casualty. Our little grey four wheeler eventually began to resemble Frankenstein's monster. It had big plastic fenders which were great when traversing mud or small creeks but had the annoying habit of getting hung up on trees and peeling away. So Dad put his stitching practice to good use, after all, he had sewn himself up on several occasions, why not the machine? He used some sort of heavy duty, transparent line in neat, uniform stitches all over that thing.Eventually, Ty and I got older and therefore larger and when we would go over small bumps the front end began to bounce higher and come down slower. I remember climbing some hills and Ty and I had to kind of scramble up the sides, standing next to Dad's feet on the metal plates to get our weight forward enough to make it up. Once again, John-Luc Prepared got ahead of the game. He and uncle Brian built a little red trailer to pull behind. It had two seats with metal horseshoe handles welded on. They put it together late one night in the garage. I don't think Mom was home because I was up with them (my favorite thing) well past my bedtime. I'm sure it wasn't as late as I think it was but I do know that I argued for an extra hour because it was Daylight Savings night. Once it was complete, it had to be tested of course. So the three of us climbed aboard and headed south to Chester Hills, this was back before everything was covered with houses. Once there, I was given the privilege of driving while they took the risk of testing out the strength of their welds and the cleverness of their creation. I was given orders to try and throw them off and I tried my hardest. We went up, down, and around; bouncing over rocks and stumps. All three of us were cackling maniacally and I wonder if there are still tales of the night the Hills were overrun with ghosts.