Jeff Edelstein: I rode an ATV for the first and last time
An endless lake spread before me, with the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania standing tall under an endless blue sky. My children were happily playing. My wife was next to me, and as I lay my head down in the grass, she lay down next to me.
The only word I could think of as I stared into the wild blue yonder was “perfect.”
Less than 24 hours later, I found myself in the same physical position — laying underneath a beautiful blue sky. “Perfect,” however, was not the word that crept into my head. Not even close.
*****
“Do it! Do it! Do it!” my wife said in response to my buddy’s directive.
“You have to try it, get the full experience of the mountain house,” is what my buddy said, referencing the ATV. The quad. You know, the thing that you’ve just figured out tossed me like a sack of potatoes being held by a squad of rag dolls.
“All right, fine, I’ll try it,” I said, standing up and making my way to the driveway.
We had been guests of our friends at their home in the northeast Pennsylvania mountains. We were having a nice time (see: lake, mountains, sky, wife, laying down). I had zero desire to get on a quad. Less than zero, actually. I am not a quad guy. Never tried riding one, but just like I know I’m not a cottage cheese guy despite never trying cottage cheese, I know I am not a quad guy.
My main fear? That my center of gravity is somewhere north of my nose.
Anyway, peer pressure got the better of me, and I hopped on. Got a two-minute lesson on how the thing operates, and off we went, my buddy out in front. Down the rocky driveway, down the steeper part of the rocky driveway.
I was acquitting myself fine, though I was certainly not enjoying myself. I get no thrills from machines. Ever. I look at cars as a way to get me places. I could care less what they look like, what they can do, how fast. Never cared, don’t care. And quads? ATVs? Whatever they’re called? Whatever.
But yes. I was riding it. Successfully. Then my buddy said let’s go into the woods so he could show me that four-wheel drive sweetness.
He drove over a small log. Went right over it. No problem. I followed.
*****
As I lay there, helmeted and hurt, I was trying to pinpoint what precisely happened. One minute I was struggling to get over this “log” — make a circle with your thumb and middle finger, double or triple, maybe, not much bigger than that — “Reverse! Now put it back in drive! Now give it gas!” my buddy implored, and next thing I know, I’m on the two back wheels, the front wheels are as high as my head, I punch it, the front wheels smash down and … well, I guess I just kind of see-sawed right off the thing. One second I’m holding on for dear life, the next I’m flying through the air.
Not entirely sure how I landed — pretty sure with my right knee and left arm somehow, before flipping over onto my back — and for a gruesomely long split second, I had no concept of where I was in regard to the ATV, the quad, the devil’s transport.
And so there I was, staring up into the crystal clear blue sky for the second time in as many days,
wondering if I was about to be squashed by a machine I had zero desire to ride and zero business on in the first place.
*****
I stood up, dusted myself off. I was shaken, but steady. The ATV sat where I left it (it left me?) over the log.
“OK,” my buddy said. “When you get back on you’re gonna wanna-”
I asked him to stop talking and kindly remove the ATV from the log. And it was a log. Definitely not a large branch. Small log. For sure.
***** Moral? Lesson? Yeah, the sky is much nicer with a beautiful woman resting next to you as opposed to viewing it with a 500 pound growling monster idling beside you after it disgorged you from it’s seat and very nearly this plain of existence.
***** “Well, at least you’re not bleeding,” my 6-yearold said to me 15 minutes later, after I came puttputting back to camp. I grimaced and nodded, though not entirely sure my kidneys, liver, thorax, and bladder hadn’t liquefied in the process. “Yeah yeah,” I said. “Was it fun?” my 11-year-old asked. “No,” I said.
“Did you really fall, or did you kind of fall?” my wife asked. She didn’t get an answer. Just a hard look. My best Clint Eastwood, like a regular (ATVriding) tough guy.
Jeff Edelstein is a columnist for The Trentonian. He can be reached at jedelstein@trentonian. com, facebook.com/ jeffreyedelstein and @ jeffedelstein on Twitter.