​Where There’s a Will

My wife and I got the camping bug in 1974. We lived in an apartment near Oregon’s forests and mountain lakes and owned a full-sized Ford Econoline van with a 4-inch foam pad in the back, perfect for two sleeping bags. After several excursions, I grew tired of sitting in my wheelchair at the campsite while everyone else disappeared into the forest.

Later we met a man who owned some three-wheeled all-terrain cycles (all Hondas). He agreed to sell his smallest Honda for just $300. We made $50/month payments for six months. I outfitted it with a hand-operated shifter rod. The first time we took it camping, I took off into the woods and no one saw me for 15 minutes. When my wife came looking for me, I roared up to her in my mud-splattered ATC, wild-haired, with a Cheshire cat smile on my face.

All-terrain 3-wheelers and 4-wheelers changed my life. Not only with camping. I could also explore lakesides, sand dunes, and secluded properties in the woods. One day we found our dream property — a small farm with acreage for truck farming, wooded hillsides, and a creek. Perfect for managing from a 4-wheeled ATV.

Fast forward: Decades passed. In 2018, after six months of bed confinement and flap surgery to fix a sore caused by riding my ATV, I decided to sell it and buy a larger UTV with a bench seat and extra padding for protection. But even the least expensive 4-wheel-drive UTVs cost upwards of $12,000. Too much, and my much-used ATV was worth less than a thousand.

Ten years earlier I had abandoned an old single-rider golf cart when my shoulders made swinging a club impossible. Its expensive deep-cell batteries died, and it gathered cobwebs. No one wanted to buy it. I literally could not give it away (to a vets group and a rehab recreation program). Could I resurrect my old cob-webbed golf cart and be content with 2-wheel drive? I could stick to the safe, level areas of the farm.

It took three sets of batteries to find the ones that fit my cart and its 36-volt system. But when I turned on the key, nothing happened. A friend who was an electrical engineer tested every possible circuit — three times — with his voltmeter. Finally, he pointed to a good-sized sealed part and said, “I think the problem’s in there.”

The part was a controller, the brain of any golf cart. I couldn’t find one anywhere — new or used. The cart was a rare 2000 model designed for people who played from a sitting position. I finally found a business that repaired golf carts and sent them the controller. After a long wait, they sent back a remanufactured controller. My friend attached it, and I turned the key on. Nothing. Turns out it was a 48-volt controller. My cart ran on 36 volts. Back in the mail, it went.

After another long wait, they sent me a 36-volt remanufactured controller. Once again, I turned the key. Nothing. I had spent $1,275. For what? We checked the batteries and all circuits again. Everything seemed in order, but still no juice. I threw up my hands. “Did you check the tow switch?” I asked.

“At least twice,” he said, tapping on the box that contained the tow switch with a large wrench. Instantly we heard a loud “click” and looked at each other. “Try it now,” he said.

I turned the key. The lights came on, and the battery gauge read fully charged. The hand accelerator worked! Forward and reverse, brakes, everything worked!

On my first ride, I revisited a remote part of the farm I hadn’t seen in about six years and quickly got stuck on a hillside. I never even blinked. My grandson pushed me, traction returned, and I tore off back to the house, my Cheshire cat face beaming.