Not a Promise, Just a Threat

hey buck-

me. you. the north woods. a rifle. this weekend. be there.

love always,
your worst f' in' nightmare.

Adjust Yo' Neck

*So I'm feeling much better two weeks after the "Big Crash." My back is still a little sore in the morning, but it's nothing that 3 Advil Liquigels can't handle. Although I do kind of wish that I would have gotten something stronger to get me through last week...like Percocet. I took four days off just to recover. I did nothing. Hung out with Jessie, drank a lot of beer and moaned and groaned every time I tried to get up and actually move around. I may still go see a doctor eventually, but I'm kind of opting for the quick fix of a chiropractor instead.

*I leave for Vegas in a week for a store managers meeting. Whenever I tell people that they get all excited for me. Stop it already. It's not as cool as it sounds. Meetings, meetings and more meetings followed by meetings. Don't get me wrong, it should be pretty fun, but...meetings.

*Besides that, not much happening. Just life. I'm amazing.

By Popular Demand

This is my leg. Read it and weep, folks....



and no, I still haven't been to the doctor. Why? Because I'm such a freakin' man.....

P.S. I am feeling MUCH better today.

How?

Warning: This is a very long read.

"Marty, wake up!"

I open my eyes. I'm tired. I woke up at 4:30 to go duck hunting with Tom and John. We saw nothing. Well, three ducks, but really, nothing. Apparently all the local ducks up and headed south already and there hasn't been a cold snap in Canada to force the Canadian ducks down.

Then an afternoon partridge hunt where, after stumbling through the woods for 2 hours and trying my best to follow the rules, we were skunked again. Too warm out? Lack of dog? Or was it the new clothes I'm wearing giving us bad luck? I've got to get the skunk off these according to Tom. He's superstitious like that.

So I open my eyes and Jessie asks if I'm ready to go out hunting again. I'm tired, but pretty eager. I want to at least get a shot off. I'm going alone this time. Tom's too tired, John's out on the deer stand with a bow, but Tom knows a trail about a mile up the road where I'm bound to see some partridge. I'm not sure if he knows that I don't even know what a partridge really looks like, but I'm awake now and pretty eager still.

"I'll take the truck. You're going to follow me to the trail on the four wheeler. There's going to be a couple of times on the way where you'll have to break from the trail and go on the highway, but don't worry about it. It's illegal, so if you get caught, you pay the ticket, but I've never been caught. Just stay on the asphalt when the shoulder gets to small." Tom's drawing up a scratch map of the trail and going over the final details and precautions I should take on the hunt.

"OK, I got this...let's go. I'm awake and pretty eager to get a bird today."

After a quick trip with Jessie on the back of the four-wheeler up to the gas station I get back and am ready to go. I run inside to grab my gloves. My hands were pretty cold from the ride to the gas station.

I kiss my bride, Tom hops in the truck and we're on the way. The trail starts out about five feet off the road. Just your average snowmobile trail. Easy to manage. Suddenly the trail ends and Tom slows down to wave me over to the highway. I ride over and start to follow him. A couple cars pass as Tom waves them through. The cars are close to me. Scary. This thing tops out at 40 mph. Tom's going about that. I gotta keep up. The shoulder has enough room for a four wheeler. I'm not too worried. We pass the part where the road goes over the lake. I hop on the asphalt. I feel exposed. Like at any time some car can come speeding past me and push me to the shoulder.

The lake passes on both sides, I hop back on the shoulder. 'God, Tom's going fast....'

I didn't even have time. I catch the lip of the shoulder. I lose control for an instant. The shoulder disappeared under me and gave way to....I look up into this swampy grassland. This is bad. Tom's going to think I'm such a dumbass. Another rookie mistake by the green north-woodser.

Jessie.

Fuck.

It's a blur. I know those thoughts ran through my head in that split second. I also remember the four wheeler literally rolling over me.

Jessie.

Fuck.

It's funny what goes through your mind those moments after. You immediately take inventory. 'Move, damn it.' I hurt. Is something broken? The first thing you want to do was simply move. 'Move damn it.' I probably laid there for about five seconds just wondering what the outcome would be. 'Is this it?' That's a very scary question. Think about it. Think about the moment. 'Is this it?' Scary.

Then I pop up.

I can't breathe. At all. I'm gasping for breath, but no air is going in our out. I look up for Tom. I think he's turning around. He had to have seen that.

I hope he saw that.

Can I walk?

I can walk. I think. I'm moving. I hurt. Everywhere. God I hurt. My back has mind numbing pain shooting across it. My neck. 'Breathe.' I can't.

I look up to the road. I'm about five feet down a steep embankment. Emphasis on steep. I fell all that way. Flipped. Rolled. What happened? 'That's a big embankment.' I need to get up there. I struggle to scurry up it. Tom's coming. I get to the road. I can't breathe. At all. I look down to the four wheeler. There's smoke coming from it. 'Fuck, I broke it. Tom's going to kill me.'

"MARTY, ARE YOU OK." Tom's getting out the truck looking about as worried as I've ever seen Tom. He speaks deliberately.

"I...heh...think...SOOoooo...."

I'm expecting the worst. I'm thinking in my head that I'm probably in shock. My leg's probably broken. My face gashed open. My ulna's sticking through my Minnesota Wild sweatshirt.

"Breathe, Marty. Breathe. Look at me.... There's blood on your face. Where's that blood coming from? It's this egg on your head. It's bleeding but it doesn't look to bad.... Turn around. Are you OK? Breathe. Follow my finger. Good. Now look me in the eyes and count to ten." I do. It's hard because I can't breathe. At all. He pokes my ribs. Feels my arms and legs. "I think you're OK."

"Hehhh...really?" Somehow I find relief in those words. OK feels good. I don't feel good. But I'm OK.

"Yeah, you're wife's gonna kill you for those ripped pants, but you can walk, I don't think anything's broken and your not bleeding too badly. Just from that egg." I look down at myself. These pants are torn to pieces. That's OK, they're not pants I care about. I spit cat tails out of my mouth.

"Really...hhehh." I can't breathe. At all.

"I think I am OK." Shit. I think I broke that four wheeler. I look back at it. It's still idling. "I'm sorry, Tom."

"Marty, you're OK, that's all I care about. Are you OK??"

I think I am. Holy shit, I think I am. How? That four wheeler rolled on me.

Tom's going on about a cloud of cat tails and how I'm so lucky. Wow. I'm coming into the reality of the situation.

"You want a smoke." I look at him like he's crazy. I can't breathe. At all.

"I...just...need...to...catch...my...breath...."

I look up and there's a lit Marb Red in my face. I take it. I smoke. People are stopping asking if I'm OK. My pants are ripped, my back hurts like a bitch, I'm bleeding, but I think I'm OK. Tom grabs my gloves that I dropped on the road when he wanted to check my hands and yells at me for wearing gloves on such a warm day. Sorry?

We assess the situation. I'm OK, the four wheeler's five feet down in the ditch. "Marty, stay here, I'm going to have to pull this thing out with my truck. I don't have a tow rope and I'm sure as hell not going back to the cabin yet, so we'll use the winch to get it out." He turns around and we get climb down to the four wheeler. I hurt so much. I still can hardly breathe. God, I hurt. Everywhere. And I still can't breathe.

I climb back down to the four wheeler. I know I'm hurting more than I ever have in my life, but Tom needs my help to get this thing out of here. I just want to go home already to my wife. I start releasing the winch it goes ten feet out. "Marty, keep going...Marty your pulling it in, not out." I'm not. I'm pressing out. I can't explain myself because I can barely breathe. Still. "OUT, MARTY, DAMN IT!"

"I...AM...!" I'm trying to tell him that I'm pressing out with the winch. I can't. I can only point in the direction I'm pushing the button.

The winch is broken. The quarter inch steel cable is tangled like a rat's nest. Damn it. We start the four wheeler back up. It dawned on me then that it's still running. I thought I broke it. Tom gets on. "Get back up to the road." People are still stopping. I don't think we need help. Tom looks around. He sees the plan. He puts the four wheeler in reverse. 'You have to be kidding me.' It was a hot knife through butter as he backed that sucker in reverse out of the ditch. About 100 ft worth of ditch at that. Amazing. It still works. Absolutely amazing. I mean, that thing literally rolled on top of me. Rolled....!

"Go to my truck, Marty. Drive it back. I'll take the four wheeler." Thank God. "Now, you have to explain to Jessie and Cindy that wasn't my fault. It was your own damn fault. Cindy's still going to kill me, but it WAS NOT my fault." He's 100% right.

I climb into his truck, still dazed. Breath is kind of back. Not really though. Shallow breaths. I turn around. My back...My neck....I'm alive, I'm moving...How? That was bad. Could have been much worse. As I drive I marvel at Arctic Cat that Tom is riding. How does that thing still work?

I climb out of the truck. Cindy's finishing the stew.

"I...got...in...an...accident....I'm...OK...Don't...be...mad...at...Tom, it wasn't...his fault...."

Jessie runs in from the living room. I woke here up from her nap. She looks at me. Concerned. I'm here. She's here. I'm so lucky. I can't even tell her what happened or how happy I am to see her, or how bad it really was. I can't talk. I can't breath that well still. They want all the info that I can't give. Tom tells them when he walks in. Wow. I'm OK.

Jessie takes me to the bedroom to change. I literally can't move. She helps me take my hunting boots off. I break down in tears as I realize what just happened. Tom pokes his head in. I think he understands the emotions that I'm feeling. God, I was glad he was there. God, I'm glad that Jessie's here. I'm OK. I hurt soo much, but I'm here. I'm OK.

So the final inventory. I have a very sore back right below my shoulder blade, my neck is killing me, I can't move very well, I have two huge bruises on my inner thigh, a lump on my head and scratches all over. That's it. I'm OK. It took me about an hour to fully get my breath back, but it's here. No collapsed lung. No broken ribs or other bones. No broken back. No stitches needed. Just really banged up. I mean, I remember that four wheeler rolling over me. Literally. This should have been worse. The best pain ever is the "I'm OK" pain.

And once again I ask, "How?"

Last night I laid in bed before I went to sleep and my mind started racing with what ifs. You can probably guess what I was thinking. Worst case scenarios and the like. Then I came to the realization. There are no what ifs, only this moment. And in this moment I'm OK.

I don't really care how.

And Your Hairy Butt....

So I'm not going to post the video, because that's all I seem to be doing lately, but...

"You ran for the president of Iran. We ran together to a tropical island."

Genius Mr. Samberg, genius....