Battleduck: Part 1

It was a dark and stormy night…

Okay, it wasn’t dark and it wasn’t stormy and it wasn’t night but my attitude was plenty gloomy. As if mother nature was giving me the finger, it was bright out. It was bitter cold but everything had the crystalline sharpness that only the clearest air of a winter noon can produce. It was far too beautiful to match a mood more appropriate for skulking around a fogbank. I was disappointed and handling it with a childish temper rather than stoic wisdom. I’d made plans to play outdoors. They’d been crushed. Crushed, stomped, bent, folded, and spindled.

I wanted to take my long neglected and archaic ATV for a second trail ride before winter hit. Absolutely fucking everything had gone wrong and my plan for a little harmless fun was more than the universe would allow. A tsunami of bullshit ate my time until I gave up all hope. If there’s to be a trail ride it’ll be in 2020.

Then, because life is like that, I had to put my shoulder to the yoke. I began a work trip that I’d been dreading. We all have work tasks we like and work tasks we hate. I was about to deal with the latter. This made forgoing my fun plans sting deeply.

Usually the road cheers me up, but not this time. Mile after mile my attitude sunk; from dour, to grim, to grumpy, until I was so insufferable that I could pass for a climate change activist. This would not do. If there’s to be pathetic whining in my truck it will come from America’s Pravda (National Public Radio) but not me, the captain of my own wheeled ship. Was I not a man of action? Wasn’t it unbecoming to travel with a black cloud over my soul?

I decided to do something to distract myself. What that would be, I had no idea. The universe would provide (spoiler alert, it did).

It’s important for the story to know the setting, I was on a rural road (divided two lanes). The terrain was a flat mixture of forest and farm that was gradually building in population density. My definition of “city” is “it’s large enough to have a Walmart”. I was leaving my comfort zone. Soon, I’d be traveling through the dreaded specter of suburbs, and subsequently into the heart of darkness that is urban. “Large enough to have a Walmart” is a punchline in such locales and impending urbanity contributed to my malaise. I needed to get my head out of my ass before I got to my destination and started annoying innocent victims.

I don’t know the specifics of the ecosystem of regulations that bound ATV trails, snowmobile trails, bicycle trails, etc. However, I do know there are certain places where ATVs and snowmobiles are legally allowed to cruise down the “ditch” adjacent to non-interstate highways. Judging from ATV shaped ruts, this was such a place. Later, as fields gave way to buildings, I noticed a “trail” parallel to the road. This was the kind of “trail” that makes me shake my head and wonder how I could possibly live in such a rich and yet pointless society. The fucking “trail” was paved! Whether it was for ATVs or spandex clad yahoos on bicycles, it was built with apparently no concern for expense. It reeked of grant money and collective expense for individual entertainment. Mile after mile it shadowed me. Perfectly graded and freshly paved; less a trail than a long narrow runway. I began grumbling stuff like “shovel ready debt” and “what kind of ass needs pavement for an ATV?”

I finally caught view of some signs at a trailhead. I swooped in and checked it out long enough to piss on a tree stump. The “trail” had a name (which I’m not divulging for anonymities’ sake); let’s call it “Grantmoney Trail”. It was for ATVs, which bothered me more than it should. ATVs are supposed to be vehicles for “all-terrain” yet this was nicer than highways in some whole nations. With time, as regular vehicles approach spaceships in complexity and cost, “trail machines” drift closer to “family car”. Adventure fades as we build shadow road networks to supplant the idea of “outdoor adventure” with “slightly more exciting than a minivan”. (I realize this is a bit hypocritical as I want to try cruising on these very trail systems sometime, so please forgice me. Grumpy people gotta’ grump and I was in a terrible snit.) This paved situation followed me for 10 miles.

Then, like a ray of sunshine from the sky, I figured out how I would change my mood. Somewhere along this highway (I couldn’t remember exactly where) there was an ATV dealership. Not just any dealership, but a big ass marketing juggernaut sufficient to tie half the county into payment plans. Make no mistake about it, modern ATVs are big business and they cost numbers I still associate with a good used car. I may be a cheapskate but the market for them is huge. I would be driving past a neon lit center of commerce where these things are adopted by their new owners! Time to explore the belly of the beast. I would stop and play with their expensive toys!

I love me some machinery, but usually avoid such places. I’m exactly the wrong kind of human being to window shop. I’ll tire kick machines but rarely buy anything but the cheapest crappiest used junk. I’m allergic to payment plans. I break out in hives at the thought of loans. My body has an involuntary immune system reaction to the presence of salesmen. To sum it up, I’m a cheap bastard with the unfortunate side effect that I don’t often get to poke and prod at the newest and most interesting wheeled gadgets.

I formulated a plan. This very day was proof that no amount of money would have given me a trail ride. After all, I own an ATV (if very old one). Was I riding it for fun? No! Instead I was hauling my ass to a place I didn’t want to be. When I got there, I’d do things I didn’t feel like doing. My fate was sealed. The shiniest, spiffiest, hottest ATV on the lot wouldn’t do Jack shit to change it. This is the mindset when you’re least susceptible to pinstripes and promises of the shiny new toys. The siren song of installment loans was weak on that day. What better opportunity to explore and then leave with my credit rating intact?

Furthermore, I have been obsessed of late with Argos. It was time to nip that in the bud. An Argo is a strange (and expensive) ATV like machine I’ve never had the chance to drive. They’re rare but I knew this dealer had a few. The only cure to my Argo obsession was to test drive one and the best time to do it was when I was well aware that buying shit isn’t the same as having the time to enjoy it.

It was a brilliant plan.

Stay tuned…