Sporting career - Aug 10 1997

On the eve of my 16th birthday, a couple friends and I decided to go camping at a neighbors acerage. Following a bit of a docile evening, rain started as a drizzle, followed by a violent pour. My camping companions and I noticed a truck and light trespassing on our neighbors land, so we decided to go investigate this evil crime.

We drove down the grave road, and the truck noticed that he was not alone. The truck sped off, and we followed. After a mile of pursuit, the gravel came to a t-intersection. Our truck driver may have thought that this was a gradual turn, I am not positive, but what followed was us rolled over in the ditch, following a 30+ mph power skid. The cab eventually crushed under the weight, but luckily, we got out before the cabs metal gave full way.

My compatriots were badly bruised and cut, with possible head injuries. I had no shoes nor shirt, but decided I would go to the closest farmhouse, miles away. I ran on gravel that felt like shards of glass. In the freezing rain, I might add. I kept telloing myself, just one more mile. I got the the closest house, 5 miles away, but the was no answer to my evening call. I decided, for the good of the group, that I would break into the house, use the phone, and slip out under the shroud of night.

Having accomplished the aforementioned breaking and entering list, I noticed that the owner was, what I could only assume an avid hunter, or perhaps a marine. He had a gun rack and gun case at his back door, luckily, he was unaware of my B/E that night.