Kaity and I had first dibs on the four-wheelers. They did, after all, belong to our dad. We strapped on our helmets and took one of our dad's radios. It was a big mountain, and we didn't want to get stranded somewhere and be totally lost. My four-wheeler did actually stall, so we were glad we had the radio. And I would be even more so to have it before the day was over.
We rode back down after Dad caught up and re-started my machine. Then I decided to go back up with one of my uncles. The ride was fun, the road bumping underneath me as I flew over divots and humps. As I rode, I grew more confidant, speeding up to almost thirty miles an hour. I saw a huge turn in the road ahead of me, two big tracks carved out from the wheels of other four-wheelers. I slowed down and made the turn with ease.
A few feet more up the road, I decided to turn around. I pulled up off the road, tuned the bars, and backed up. I had to be careful as I was on a switchback road and didn't fancy backing off the edge. About halfway through my turn, my uncle came back down and passed me. I followed him a few minutes later, but lost sight of him before I reached the sharp turn. I was still going pretty fast, but I didn't think about it until I actually hit the turn. Then I knew something was wrong. My four-wheeler started to overbalance, wobbling dangerously to the right. I guess instinct kicked in when I felt it going over and I must have tried to climb off, because the next thing I knew I was backwards, underneath the huge machine with its immense weight pressing on my back. I tried to lift it up. No good. I should have known I wouldn't be able to lift it because it was about twice as big as I was and four times as heavy. I struggled again anyway and realized it was starting to hurt. The only thing I could think about was this story I had heard where a guy lands underneath something and punctures a lung. "I really hope I don't puncture a lung," I thought, "Or die." I forced myself not to think about what could happen to me and focused on getting out.
I had an arm free, so I used it to pull myself out from under the four-wheeler, scooting sideways like a crab. Good news: my body was free from the enormous pressure. Bad news: my right arm was still stuck, twisted with the inside facing up and all that weight crushing it into the dirt. "All right, Heather," I told myself, "pull yourself together. You can do this." I realized I was lying in a ditch, with the four-wheeler still up on the road. It came to me like four thousand volts of electricity zapping through my brain for a split-second. If I pulled the four-wheeler towards me, it would leave a gap on the edge of the gully to pull my arm down through. I pulled. But unfortunately, the four-wheeler was too heavy and it just slid into the ditch with me.
I finally managed to screw up enough courage and strength to yank my arm straight out. It burned, stung, and throbbed like crazy, but I was still alive. I yanked the radio out of my sweatshirt pocket and called my dad. In a voice not too choked with tears, I explained what had happened. He asked me if I was all right, I said yes, and he told me he was coming to get me.
While I waited for him to arrive, I had plenty of time to think about my arm. I hurt. A lot. More than any injury I'd had that I could think of. But I could move it, so it must not have been broken. Dad came, flipped over the four-wheeler (with help from my step-mom), and gave me a ride back down to camp. All of my relatives were worried, kept asking me if I was sure I was all right, and so on. I rested in the car, reading a book I had brought with me and trying not to think too much about my still throbbing arm. In the end, all I had of that experience was some grit in my sweatshirt and a bruise the likes of which have never been seen at a McCoy Family Reunion.
I suppose that brush with near-death has taught me something not many people have experienced first-hand. Man is mortal, and nothing scientists come up with is ever going to change that. The road we walk every single day is a narrow one between life and death, and it takes only the simplest of mistakes to cross the line. I can only imagine, and I really don't want to, what would have happened to my family and friends if I had died that day. Death is really a serious thing, and those who take it lightly really have no idea what they're doing to the people who love them. I've met Death under a four-wheeler; I just got lucky he was looking for somebody else.