Soul Satisfaction
Before you condemn all ATV use, drive a mile (or more) in the six-wheeled tire tracks of a thoughtful ATVer.
A 1947 topographic map showed the ancient dirt road to be in existence at least back then. It was a perfect road; located on the "dark side" of the mountain, it was narrow, winding, muddy and constantly pockmarked with deep, foreboding, mucky water holes.
I doubt if the sun ever hit even 50 percent of the ribbon as it wound below the over-story of thick forest, but that's what made the road so neat: It never had a chance to be anything but constantly muddy–my kind of pathway.
Recently a strong thunderstorm had torn over and around the mountain and dumped a layer of icy hail on this north side. That is what provoked me to load up my six-wheel, amphibious all-terrain vehicle and to trailer it up to a point just below where this road began.
Conditions of the trail were perfect for why I own this kind of machine, and they don't occur nearly enough as far as I'm concerned.
In drier years I never bothered coming here to challenge the trail with its everpresent mud-holes. In those times when water is scarce, I didn't want to disturb the precious, murky, jaundice-yellow liquid, because wildlife depended on the life-giving sustenance. But this time was different. Water was everywhere!
My six-wheeler may be the only one of its kind in the southwest of New Mexico. As the photo on this page shows, my "Max-Machine" is basically a fiberglass tub, sealed from water and sitting on three solid axles holding six wheels and tires, driven by roller chains. It is a true full-time six-wheel-drive machine controlled by two joysticks and driven in the same way you would operate a bulldozer: Pull back on one stick and you brake that side and thus turn the machine. Pull back on both and you stop it, while letting go of the sticks propels the machine forward with much gusto. Simple.
The first mud-hole happened to be 12 feet wide and maybe 20 feet long and that murky, jaundiced color. It had a smaller twin beyond it, separated by about a foot of dirt. The twins were so menacing that both trucks and other ATVs had skirted around them.
I didn't even hesitate but throttled right in. At least two feet of water and muck greeted me. Towards the middle, the bottom gave way to ooze that tried to rob the Max-Machine of traction and suck it down.
That didn't happen! The six tractor-tread tires merely yawned a bit, then churned onward as I goosed the throttle. The second water hole wasn't even a challenge. Oh the joy of it all, heh, heh.
Next I came upon a rutted, rock-filled section of road with many steep ledges jutting up two or three feet in height. The Max-Machine took it all in stride as it powered upward; not even one wheel slipped.
And so I went for the next five miles through mud and unknown water holes, some so deep that the 800-pound machine actually floated and became an engine-powered boat.
Now, most folks who own ATVs and four-wheel-drive pickups would more than likely gun their engines and plow furiously through such obstacles, sending plumes of water everywhere. Not me. I prefer to be "mellow man," toodling over and through such geography, savoring every single second.
Besides, I believe in not leaving much of a footprint for others to find and follow. No one has a "need-to-know" of where ol' Lar ventures.
The Max-Machine is perfect for such antics because the weight-to-size ratio on those tall 26-inch tires leaves little trace upon the ground.
As I turned back and toodled some more I pondered how to communicate to those of you who absolutely abhor such machinery and their drivers (or at least are ignorant of this sport) why I so enjoy what I do. Here is what I came up with.
I don't want you to identify with my machines and me, but rather to think about what makes your own heart go pitter-patter when you are out and about. Is it mountain biking a rough trail? Or is it climbing a cliff or rappelling down one? Is it hiking to the top of a high mountain or doing the C-D trail or backpacking to a secluded spot or catching a 20-inch trout in the wilds?
In other words, what gives you that quiet, yet joyous satisfaction? What drives you to an inner peace of accomplishment? After you've come up with it, then come identify with what I'm feeling as I achieve the same soul-place-nirvana as I use my machine to slowly conquer bad terrain and come back whole. Or when I discover a longforgotten roadway and slowly negotiate it to just see where it will go.
Now do you get it? It's not about identifying with the particulars of what sends me, but identifying with my satisfaction. Hey, ain't it nice to be on the same page for a change?
As always, keep the sun forever at your back, the wind forever in your face, and may the Forever God bless your adventures too.
Larry Lightner writes Ramblin' Outdoors
exclusively for Desert Exposure.