Yesterday, the husband and I (without kids…w00t!) joined one of the ATV clubs we belong to for a charity ride—collecting cans of food and raising money for local food pantries. Because my Rincon lives at camp until we close it up next month, we had to ride double on his King Quad. That totally sucks. But, not only was it a good cause, but they’re great people and we don’t get to see them often enough (because three of our four machines are always at camp during the riding season), so I sucked it up and off we went.
Once we arrived at the event area, however, some friends of ours insisted we take their Polaris RZR (pronounced Razor) side-by-side out for a spin. They’ve offered many times, but we’re not in the habit of borrowing from people. We believe if we break it, we buy it and RZRs are OMG spendy. But they were working the event and wouldn’t be riding, and he had it fired up and ready to rock and roll, so we took it.
Fun! We had a blast in it, despite the anxiety stemming from the fact it was Not Ours to Break. I’m not a very good passenger, though. The grab bar Polaris kindly provides for the passenger to hold on to had just enough play so I kept trying to steer whenever I didn’t like the path my husband chose. It didn’t work.
Once the poker run was over and my husband’s nerves couldn’t take any more of the Not Ours to Break anxiety, we went back to the event area for BBQ and visiting. Then we set out again, riding double on the King Quad, which is not designed for riding double. Some brilliant brain trust (that would be my husband) decided to go up the mountain and check out the view. We were up there several years ago and the trail wasn’t bad. We had SK in the box and TK on his own machine and we all made it fine.
Let’s just say it’s washed out and some of the bigger rocks are more exposed, with a lot more billy-goatin’. After the “incident” during which I screamed and mentally apologized to my children for marrying a guy who got me killed on a stupid rock, there were several places I got off and walked over rough spots. Since walking to the mailbox daily is the extent of my exercising (hey, there are four steps up to the driveway), it was less than fun.
The view was worth it, though.
Except for those five seconds or so I was pretty sure I was going to die, I had a great weekend. How about you?