While substitute teaching in Crooked Creek, Alaska, I sought and obtained permission to use the school’s four-wheeler. Riding a four-wheeler is to me a little bit like riding a pony: bumpy, sure-footed, and a tiny bit unpredictable. Not to mention the fresh air and the moderate exercise that staying on requires.

One day after it had snowed twelve inches, I decided to take a ride. What could possibly go wrong, I asked myself; I know how to drive one of things. I used a trip to the dump as an excuse. After all, I was leaving soon, and wouldn’t it be rude to leave my trash for someone else to dispose of?

Thus, I confidently entered the bus barn, threw a leg over, and cranked up said four-wheeler. As I pulled out into the deep snow and started down the steep little hill in front of the barn, I noticed something that I wished I had noticed before. To wit, I was pulling the cart. The previous user had obviously left the heavy, cumbersome cart attached, an important detail that I failed to observe as I was cheerfully pulling out onto the road.

Upon becoming aware of this minor detail, I swore softly and considered my options. I am hopeless at backing up a vehicle with a trailer-type thing attached, and thus turning around at the top of the hill seemed well-nigh impossible. I decided after a moment’s thought to continue my journey with cart attached. I decided to move my one bag of garbage from the back of the four-wheeler and place it into the cart. That way, I would have a plausible reason to be pulling the stupid thing. Sort of.

Decision made, I set off down the hill in search of the dump. Did I mention that, although I had been shown the dump during a nickel tour of the community, I did not actually remember where it was?

I started up the road that I remembered the dump being on, and took several turns that led me uphill: it seemed like a reasonable approach. I struggled through some snow drifts, silently praying not to get stuck, especially since I had forgotten to bring a shovel. I went further up hill for a few more turns and then found a left turn that led downhill. Since I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to find the dump, I decided to head back down in hopes of getting un-lost. Just as I noticed that I was low on fuel, I squeezed around a corner, slipping and sliding in the knee-high snowdrifts, and saw the airport ahead. Now I knew where I was.

I almost made it back to the bus barn with the community none the wiser of my folly. The last little stretch was extremely steep, and my little pony gave up on pulling the cart. I had no choice but to unhook the cart and get it as far off the road as possible. Then I drove the four-wheeler successfully into the barn.

I knew that during daylight the stranded cart would pose no danger, but it was likely that anybody coming around that corner in the dark would crash right into it. So I had a limited amount of time to get it moved. Of course I tried to drag it up the hill by myself but soon saw the futility of such an effort. I swallowed my pride and asked my neighbor, who readily came out to help me: he pulled and I pushed and we got the beast safely into the barn.

My neighbor was too polite to ask questions, so I gestured vaguely towards the bag of garbage that was still in the cart and explained that I had been searching for the dump. I indicated that if he would refresh my memory as to how to find said dump, I would try my expedition again, without involving the cart.

Genteel young man that he was, he tried to conceal his alarm. “Oh, no, Miss Evelyn,” he replied hastily. “I am going to take my trash tomorrow. Just leave yours here, and I’ll take it too.”

To his credit, he didn’t actually tell me not to bother my pretty little head about it.