Peaceful Motorcycle Ride: Part 6: Mud Ditch

I headed toward Mud Ditch but the siren song of the forest had me wandering about like a puppy off the leash. I hopped on this trail and that; going nowhere in general. Why wouldn’t I? These particular trails were well maintained, the scenery was gorgeous, I’d had a great lunch, and the cloudy weather had cleared.

I started thinking of grouse hunting. I can’t hit shit with a shotgun but I can enjoy the hike and call it hunting. Also, I might get lucky. Grouse taste delicious!

As if on cue, I saw a grouse! I stopped the bike and got a grainy video of a chicken looking thing 50 yards down the trail. I got off the bike and hiked up there to see where he went (I’m still not 100% sure what habitat grouse prefer). The grouse was like “fuck off” and scampered into the leaves. “I’ll be seeing you for dinner in a few weeks.” I chuckled.

I’d covered a shitload of miles and only occasionally seen a grouse. Each sighting is information about good hunting ground. I was amid aspen. Was that a clue? I’ve no idea. Hunting is not shopping. One must learn.

On to Mud Ditch….

I enjoyed dozens of twists and turns on trails built entirely for recreation (as opposed to other trails I’d followed that were remnants of logging, power companies, or other parts of a “working” forest). Then I arrived at Mud Ditch.

What a wonderland of freedom! Mud Ditch appeared to be an old gravel pit in the middle of nowhere. A fish and game club had somehow acquired it (either recently or long ago in the sands of time). They’d turned it into playland. There had to be 50 people there!

UTVs zoomed to and fro as happy folks chatted about their afternoon ride. Stereos were blasting shitty country music. Beer was being consumed. Children ran around gleefully. Some grandpa aged dude was playing horseshoes with a little kid barely able to lift the horseshoe. Someone’s dog snoozed in the shade.

I hadn’t expected this! I sat on a picnic table just soaking up all the joy.

The “gravel pit” wasn’t small. It was several acres at least. Nor was it a pit. It may have been one once but it had been carefully smoothed and then, once it was smooth, it had been trashed all over again. It was deliberately riddled with piles of dirt and gravel… over which UTVs were driving merrily. There was a scruffy little pond. I’m sure brave and stupid guys blast their UTVs into that muddy mess all the time.

One side was shaded by tall trees. It had become a de-facto (or official) campsite. There were several 5^th wheels and large trailers. (No tents, though I was assured they were welcome.) The campers had slide outs deployed and awnings rolled out and some had generators running. There seemed to be random picnic tables here and there. The tables looked less like they were supplied and more like people with the campers just tossed a picnic table in the truck when they came… possibly leaving them behind (donating them) for general use when they depart.

For all I know the campers had been there all summer. Why not?

That was just the beginning. There was a smallish but modern looking building. It was recently built or at least the siding and shingles were new. It was like a modern one room schoolhouse. It had a meeting area and a crude kitchen (if a room with no sink, burners, or refrigerator can be called a kitchen). I imagined meetings of the club at the many benches. I imagined potluck dinners from the kitchen. There was no electricity (the power grid was a good 15 miles removed from this spot!) but I think the building was wired like an RV. Should someone pull their truck up close and fire up a generator, they could plug the building in like an RV would plug into “shore power”. At least that’s my guess. I was too distracted to think on it for long.

There was a poster on the wall. “Please support XYZ Game Club. Click here to join.” There was a QR code for cell phones (which clearly didn’t have service here). Next to that was a clipboard and a coffee can. “Donate or join here.” Two totally different ways of the world; neither in charge, both welcomed.

The yearly membership fee was something like $25 for a family. Good grief that’s cheap! Then again, I’d never been here and might never be back.

I was just so happy to see all this great stuff and all the happy people that I resolved to drop $25 in the donation can. Before I could do that, a sweet lady approached. “Would you like to buy a raffle ticket for $10.”

“Hell yes!”

Soon I was $20 lighter and clutching two raffle tickets that might turn into any one of a dozen rifles or shotguns at the drawing next month. I was overjoyed. There are parts of my nation that still persist! A good old fashioned gun raffle is a tradition that goes back possibly as long as America has been America. It was completely normal and still is. God bless America!

I asked for a tour and she was glad to show off the place. Apparently she was half of a married couple that ran the club that was making things happen here. She was so nice and earnest, I wanted to hug her.

Out front there was a kid’s playground. Swings and a climbing wall. More stuff was off to the side; scavenged monkey bar type stuff, ready for reassembly. She explained that they were going to assemble it after they got another few truckloads of additional playground equipment. It would be freshly painted and erected within a few months. I was impressed. They’ll probably have a better playground than some elementary schools when all is said and done. Now that I think of it, the equipment was probably donated by elementary schools cycling out old equipment for whatever is new and lawyer approved. For that matter, I’m not sure to what degree schools still physically operate.

There was some heavy equipment parked off to the side. The excellently maintained trails owed their quality to a hefty tracked machine parked right there. There were other machines too. Some in working order, some not.

There really was a rifle range. Sweet! Stout wood and metal shooting benches under a new metal roof… with a concrete pad under your feet. She wasn’t sure of the range distance. The backstops looked solid.

Did I need to be a member to enjoy all this stuff?

“Oh heck no honey. If you’re broke that’s fine.” Holy Norman Rockwell! I beamed. I was in a redneck time warp to the before times.

A huge concrete floored outhouse with solar lighting was getting plenty of use. “Bucks” on one side, “Does” on the other (complete with a stenciled deer with antlers… in case you were confused). I’m sure the other 53 flavors we hear about in the news are welcome too but they’ll have to pick a side. Nobody’s going to build a third outhouse when two will do.

A woman, possibly loaded up with margaritas, brushed past me. She shouted to a group of men and UTVs. “Crank the radio… I wanna’ hear my favorite song while I’m in there.” This got everyone laughing but one fellow really did drive the UTV with the radio over to the outhouse. The rest of the fellas suggested they should sing instead.

My tour passed beyond before I got to see if they actually sang.

The raffle ticket lady’s husband had showed up. True to my “survivalist nature” I was asking if there was water here. Every dot on a map is a potential oasis, shelter, and cache. I like to know them from personal experience and I always mentally catalog what will be found at each one.

I got to hear the story about how the manual pump to the well had broke when “young people” didn’t know how to prime a hand pump. We all chuckled at the cluelessness of the younger generation. I offered they probably couldn’t drive manual transmission either. We all laughed at that. A new hand operated but rotary pump (a bit more idiot-proof) was in the works.

Was the building ever locked? (This forest is a place a guy on a motorcycle might freeze! It’s good to know these things.) “Nope… never locked.” But, reading my mind, the fellow admitted there was no heat in the building. No woodstove? Nope. “You can start a fire outside but we didn’t install a chimney in the building.” Good to know.

I lingered a long time at Mud Ditch. Everything and everyone was nothing like the outside world. No masks, no Karens, no large kiosk with regulations and warnings. No complaining about which recycling bin to use or whether your dog needs to be on a leash. You’re a grown up and can figure shit out yourself. I couldn’t get over all the smiles. Everyone was happy, drunk, or both.

This group might be a rotating crowd or a core with hangers on. Who knows? I suspect the place is a madhouse during hunting season but I didn’t see any meat poles. I also assume the first snow changes the crowd from UTV riders to snowmobilers but the smiles remain the same.

I daydreamed that if shit gets bad enough I’d join the club. I’d buy a big fat camper trailer, haul it up there, and hunker down. For all I know, some of the people there are doing just that.

Pondering the muddied future of a society in decline, I carefully examined the equipment with a more focused eye. I saw what I expected to find. A massive and very old but seemingly functional dump truck. It had a huge plow and appeared ready for winter. I think Mud Ditch is on a road that’s “maintained” in winter; meaning the road will freeze like the strongest cement and snow is routinely plowed. Perhaps daydream is the wrong word… one of many future worlds has me quietly hunkered down at Mud Ditch while everything from Baton Rouge to Baltimore flames out. If the world goes to shit I’d rather nope out… like the bear. How long would a total reset take? Weeks? Months?

Make no mistake, this isn’t a place for the faint of heart. It’s one of the coldest places in the Continental US… winter up here is brutal. There’s no power grid and no cell service and no stores of any kind. The nearest food is “The Crown”. But options are options. Camper trailers exist. Generators are a thing. I was on satellite broadband two decades ago when it was HughesNet. It sucked to get the dish installed but it did work. It’s decades in the future now. Did the Starlink internet service ever get to consumers?

I sipped lukewarm water from my motorcycle’s RotoPax and looked at the UTVs with ice filled coolers. There are always ways to be.

I’ll surely never need it but I’d found a place I could hide… where a mask has probably never been worn. Here was a spot where adults smile at each other like civilized people. Where men might sing at the outhouse for fun. Where children play as children should. The only drawbacks I could see were logistics (which can be managed) and I don’t like country music.

The sun began to approach the horizon. I had to go. It wasn’t easy to ride away from my new adopted homeland: Mud Ditch.