Let him roll.

From early this spring.

As a young boy I got into some scrapes, was at times places I should not have been, doing things I should not have done. With age comes if not wisdom reflection and regrets. You carry them like the burden they are, may wish to place them on another's back but they transfer poorly, I guess that is only fair.
That being said two pursuits I have no regrets about, motor scooters and fishing. As a young boy they captivated and entertained me, when I wasn't engaged in them I was day dreaming about them. In my heart of hearts, the one which you carry from earliest childhood to the grave they are front and center. No matter on the banks of the Mud Creek with pole in hand and the song of the meadow lark near, or putting along some country road with a cast iron flat head Briggs, Red wing black birds chattering my passing. Those two endeavors are the song in my heart, the best of me, the best I got.

My son Alan,now forty, should have been a motor head. I was in the business, worked on motorcycles. Go karts and dirt bikes should have been front and center through his childhood. I recall making the decision, I determined if he did not show interest in motorbikes and such I would not push it. Fishing is where his heart was and I was more then happy to oblige him. Although neither of fish today we share many good memories No regrets.

My grandson Evan and I are close, as a young boy he lived with us. He loves the smell of gasoline. Gave him an old hydro-stat Bolens garden tractor at 8. He terrorized our neighborhood for three years, no one got killed and any fool could see it made his heart sing.

The old Manco four wheeler stood forlorn and alone, two hundred bucks and it was mine. A hundred and twenty dollar motor, a ninety dollar clutch, fifty bucks for disc brakes, some time and some welding. The kids got good hands, better then mine. I love to watch them work, place the bolts, start the nut, flip the clutch, no not this way that.
I gave him our pasture. Know it will get tore up but grass can always be regrown.
He called Friday, could I come get him after work? Saturday morning we worked on his seat which was in shambles. A new plywood base and some stapling put it right. Problem was the snow this past week. It had the pasture covered and there simply was no place else to take it.
Evan called Miss Connie who has a nice long graveled lane. “Maybe next week, too soft now Evan”.
He took it like a man yet the disappointment clearly showed on his face. My mind went back to country roads and Redwing blackbirds.

Told him we would load it up and find somewhere. Four miles out, not a car in sight. We dropped the ramp and rolled it off. Head east I told him, I will be right behind you. The look on his face, like he had just won the lottery.

She topped out at 18 mph, little slow I thought. A mile down the road he twisted around and grabbed the throttle at the motor and we were soon going 33. Stopping at a crossroad I cast about for a tool spying only a crescent wrench. Smash the gas pedal down I told him as I made some cable adjustments to put things right.

The gravel roads were decent mostly hard in the middle soft on the sides. We had Pandora radio set to Guy Clark. Every-time he would turn to see what I wished him to do next I would motion him forward, “let him roll”.

This way that way, around Ryan then Swan lake. He looked so happy, just a kid and his cart with a ticket to ride. Swan Lake was the best, some nice short sweeping ninties. He saw them coming, had the pedal to the floor, carrying just enough speed to get some drift . Making the exit he would turn and grin, like he was saying. Did you see that ?

The miles pile up, still no cars. Every corner now he is expecting me to load him up, every time he looks back I motion on, “let him roll”. Stopping before an intersection we chat a bit, with a grin he tells me it is actually quite soothing. I nod my head, understanding perfectly. We are over twenty miles into it, I tell him to turn right.

I go to follow then see the sign, Minimum Maintenance road, No Plowing.
Well shit, I am not taking my Expedition and trailer down there. I pull over and wait for him to realize I am not following.

He goes, and goes and goes. Good God kid, turn around. Finally no more then a muddy speck on a muddy distant hill he pulls over and makes his turn and it is with great relief the speck becomes larger and larger. I have the ramp down, he rolls around the intersection and onto the trailer in one fluid motion, covered in mud.
We laugh as we recount the trip. I admonish to him that this is a one time deal, “don’t you be expecting it again.”. He grins. A big happy muddy grin.

I encourage you to take a listen to the Guy Clark song, Let him Roll. Not relevant to this story except the chorus, "Let Him Roll." Was playing in my head the entire run, every-time he looked back, every-time I motioned him on.