Low Battery

March 6, 2017
By Brodyn BRONZE, Center Barnstead, New Hampshire
Brodyn BRONZE, Center Barnstead, New Hampshire
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Low battery. Exactly the two words I didn’t want to see right now. I was alone, Five miles down the trail, stranded. I was kneeling about five feet from where my fourwheeler was on Its handlebars, shut off, pouring out gas.

I had been riding too fast, when it was to slippery and had tried to avoid a puddle and had been bucked off the seat through the air to see the fourwheeler role twice then to come at rest on its handlebars. As I stood up on my feet I realized that there was a sharp pain in my right foot that put my back on my knees. What to do? What to do? Call someone! My hand reached in my pocket to dig out my phone. I clicked the home button to see a notification pop up.

Low battery.

Crap! 3%. Can I make a call? Will my battery hold up for a call? I immediately click the sleep mode button and just try and think.  Can I walk? I try and stand and again there is another pain to bring me back to my knees. I look around me to see where I am, I hadn't actually thought to check where I am on the trail. I’m in the section by the swamp, to the left of me I see Kingsley's hemlock grove, Then to the right I see the 34 swamp. Then to my back side I see the start of the rest of the 13 mile trail, and then back in front of me where the four wheeler lies there upside down like a kids frown when they're told they can’t have the candy bar. Okay let’s try my phone, And we have to make it quick. I pick up my phone from where I set it next to me on the ground. Click, the lock screen opens and my fingers a immediately flying at the button, 603-269-3062 I say to myself in my head as I dial the number. Ring, 2%. Ring Ring, Come on pick up. Ring, 1%. Rin…

I look down at my phone to see a black screen. “GOD DAMN IT!!!!!” I scream into the air, My voice echoes through the valley between the swamp and the hemlocks.

Ok think Brodyn, Think. What can you do now? Look around, for a stick, Yeah  a stick, to help you get up. I spot a hemlock bow to my left and reach for it. I feel the rough sandpaper like bark on my hands. I push the branch into the ground as I try and stand to my feet. I get to almost me feet and I hear a crack as the branch crumbles out from beneath me and I crash to my knees.

Then I hear a crack to my left, My head snaps to my left shoulder scanning the woods for whatever made that noise. Then a crack to my right, And my head snaps to the right, then back to the left, and to the right again. Then I see a gray shift in the trail to the front of me.

A coyote.

Then another gray shift to my right, another coyote, and then another shift to my left another one. What now, you can’t move, you can’t fight, what now? I wave my hands and the coyote in front of me lunges forward and yips.

I scream “GO, GO AWAY!”. Then the one on the left of me stalks towards me, teeth bared, snarling. I scream again,

“Leave now, GO”. Then I hear it, a faint rumble. Is that an engine? Is that coming towards me? It is! Then I see it. It’s dad coming around the corner of the trail. He sees me and smiles then his face twists into a look of so much worry that I never want to see that look again. Then he speeds up yelling and screaming. I see the coyote in front of me do a full 180 and take off, then the one to me left and the one to my right follow. As my dad approaches he looks at me with the most joyful face I have ever seen and comes up and hugs me. The lesson I learned that day was to never ride alone, you never know what will happen when you are out.

The author's comments:

This happened to me over the summer of 2016, I thought it would be a good peice to write about. 

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