The more I think about it, the more
amazed I am my friends and I never landed in the emergency room.
OK, well, a couple of us did, but
considering all of the stupid stuff we did, the ER-to-stupidity ratio
is stunningly low.
Reading a story about bear sightings
triggered a memory of one such act of stupidity.
I was dirt bike riding with a buddy of
mine named Rob. We were 14 years old, invincible, wise beyond all
human understanding and had way more testicular fortitude than
brains.
The way we used to ride should have
been enough to warrant several interactions with someone in the
emergency medical field, but somehow we managed to escape every
situation unscathed.
From clipping a cow at 50 mp/h and
walking away – after I was done tumbling through the field that is
– to being run over by my own motorcycle, there was no shortage of
situations that should have ended badly.
So what does riding a dirt bike like an
immortal have to do with a bear? I'm getting to it.
You see, one of our favourite riding
activities was exploring. We would find an old trail, path or logging
road and see where it went.
On this particular warm summer's day,
we were several kilometres deep in the bush and had not seen another
human for quite a while when we came across the wild version of
Winnie the Pooh.
This was not some cuddly, loveable
bear. But a wild beast, and a fairly large one at that.
We roared up on our bikes, the bear saw
us and immediately took off into a tree-filled gully.
We stopped our bikes and watched the
beast smash its way through the trees.
We looked at each with the same look:
wow, is that ever cool.
Then one of the dumbest ideas of my
life formed and was quickly spoken: Hey, let's see where he went.
I know, I know – pure stupidity.
We hopped off our bikes and began
working our way up the gully. We could not hear the black beast
anymore, which meant it has run far enough away we could not hear it,
or it had stopped moving and was somewhere ahead of us.
Now, I have never claimed to be overly
bright, as I am sure this tale is validating, but even my teen aged
brain had a moment of reason.
About 50 metres into the woods, we both
stopped, looked at each other and agreed this is one of the dumbest
things we have ever done.
Suddenly, bravado was replaced by near
panic as we made out way back to our bikes. Slowly at first, then
running as fast as we could as we were positive the creature was only
a few feet behind us, angry at the intrusion and thirsting for our
fresh, teen age blood.
The bikes were sitting at the side of
the road and we jumped on them, pulled out the kick start and
prepared to make a fast getaway.
Except for one slight problem: my
friend's bike would not start.
We were dead. That's it, the bear was
going to come out and get us both because my buddy's Honda decided it
did not want to come to life.
He jumped on the kick starter with a
ferocity I had never seen before. Sweat was pouring out of his helmet
as we both kept a close eye on the forest around us.
Kick after kick, the bike would not
start – until he noticed the engine kill switch was engaged.
He flipped the switch, the bike started
and we took off like a couple of escaped criminals.
It was years before I told my dad about
the bear story, and he looked at me with the same look I am sure many
of you had throughout this tale of idiocy.
Did I mention I have never claimed to
be overly bright?
Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh
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