Taking Time To Breathe & Step Back

Some months ago I was contacted by a twenty one year old young lady who asked if I had any suggestions in a direction to proceed if she was attempting to locate her biological family. She had read a few posts here on this blog about my own personal journey and how my personal search took place. She mentioned to me that I stated more than once that I would pass on my methods, recommendations, and free agencies that are available to the general public. We communicated much through email, then texting, and eventually over the phone. Then, out of the blue, everything just stopped cold, all communication between us ended, and we fell out of communication. I did wonder what happened, but I left it alone since I figured there was good reasons.

Until yesterday, the day when I got a fantastically wonderful and surprising email from her. She wanted to update me on what had been happening with her search. Before I get into the results I think, after I received her blessings, I need to tell her story. She has a story not unlike many, she found out she was adopted purely by accident, and it turned her entire world upside down as she had no idea to ever think she was adopted. I will begin her story from the point she found out at the age of nineteen.

She was on her way home from college to spend time over the holiday break with her mother who had become very ill over the prior year. Unfortunately, during her visit her mother passed away. After the funeral she tasked herself with clearing her mother’s house of personal belongings so the home could be put on the market. She had made arrangements for everything to be placed into storage after she had taken the time to box it all up neatly. She wasn’t really sure what to do with anything, so she figured storing it all would give her time to sort through her emotions first. After a few days of packing up the rest of the house it was time to start in her mother’s bedroom, a place specifically left until the end because she figured it would be the hardest for her. After countless hours in the room, folding clothes neatly, wrapping the breakables, and taking down pictures from the wall, she entered the closet to get it over with. Midway through the closet she sees a small metal box on the shelf above and when she gets it down she sees it is locked. She remembered there was a small key in her mother’s jewelry box and after digging it out she gave it a turn, and to her surprise it opened the lock. Now, she has never seen this box before so she was pretty excited. In the box there was a single legal sized envelope inside, nothing else, just the envelope. She struggled with the decision to open the envelope, as much as she wanted to open it she really understood the importance or secrecy, because, as it is, the sealed envelope was in a locked metal box on the top shelf in the closet under years stuff which secluded it nicely.

She set the box to the side, envelope remaining inside unopened, as she finished her task of packing. It has been an emotional so far since she found boxes upon boxes of memoirs of her entire life, she remembered most of the captured glimpses of time, so the emotions were grand and somewhat severe. That night she prepared a pallet to sleep on in the middle of all the boxes in the living room and decided it was time to get some rest. As she layed there she could see the metal box resting atop other packed boxes. Still wondering about the contents she sits the box in front of her on the floor. She opened the box. She again sees the envelope. But this time she opens it up, she removed the contents and placed them on the floor beside her, and now it is time to review the paperwork which much be very important information. The first letter was from an attorney, addressed to her parents. It was a message to inform them that their wait is finally over because a newborn girl was immediately available for their review and potential adoption. Enclosed was a picture of the newborn, she recognized the picture, why wouldn’t she, it was a picture of her. Needless to say she reviews all the documents, trying to process them mentally, and trying to find the sanity in the madness.

The following morning she started googling information, names, agencies, and in the crazy mix of it all landed right here on this very blog. She chooses to not leave any public comments on any of the posts she found dealing with my own adoption story. Instead, I get an email asking, and I will quote, “are you for real in your offer to exchange information about being adopted”? She said quite a bit more, asked a few more relevant questions, and then closed out the email. I replied to her, answering her questions and reassured her that I will share whatever I know. Soon enough, we exchanged 20 plus emails which evolved into texting which evolved into actual telephone conversations, there were even two occasions we did the Skype thing so I could physically show her a few online processes. As I mentioned earlier, our communication stopped abruptly, and I have been left wondering about her and her situation.

I got an email yesterday, it was from her, and she explained that she had some luck in her search but thinks she will put it all to rest because she was heading down a road she didn’t want to travel. She did, however, locate her biological grandfather, who was a disabled Marine veteran who now lives in a VA sponsored retirement home. To make a long, wonderful story short, he is her only surviving blood relative. I was asked not to share anymore than that, so I know it seems as if the story has taken a bad turn, but I assure y’all that after talking with her last night that just the opposite is true. This story isn’t actually over, there’s more, but I was asked to follow up with her in a few months when she goes on summer break, where, if I choose to do so (her words) I can write more in detail about her personal journey. I agreed.

I lead a super simple life, I like it this way, and I am very pleased that somewhere in the midst of all the different crap here that at least one person found something that happened to me personally to be useful or beneficial in some way. I just wrote about my life knowing that sometimes, not always, shit happens that you just have to deal with, being adopted is one of those times, one of those things, that a person can either roll with or fight, its all about your own perspective in life.

Talk About A Ghost From Christmas Past

I really hate the fact that I have begun to think in the terms of my elders, but at times they have it too right to ignore. It takes a certain kind of lowlife douchebag to steal property which belongs to others, no matter their reasoning or justifications. There’s something broken within their morality meter which allows them to cross the forbidden line between right and wrong. Yesterday I was reminded that many laws are designed to better protect the criminal than the victims. Yesterday I received a letter from the state of Texas which informed me that Mr. Lowlife Douchebag III (his real name will never be spoken by my lips here) is scheduled for release from state incarceration in November 2014 after successfully meeting state parole requirements. Why is this information important to me personally? I will explain that in a minute since the incident happened back in this blogs literal infancy and I have never mentioned it here before in any kind of detail.

Late in the evening seven years, nine months, and three days or 2,834 days ago, we were settling down after just returning from a get together with my in-laws. After looking at the time, we had realized it will be Christmas Day in a few short hours. When we came in the house for the first time our hands were full, so after setting down all the food and bags, I returned to the truck to get the everything else. It was at this time I first noticed wet foot prints on the driveway and an out of place shadow where they ended at just the edge of where the light reached. I continued to the driver’s side of the truck, opened the door, reached into the center console, and retrieved my pistol. I remained bent across the seat, looking out behind me, waiting for movement. After a very long couple of minutes, I climbed back out of the truck and walked to the edge of the drive, and then I saw the shadow blink. Before I knew what was happening I had this man pinned to the ground with a pistol pointed at his forehead. Many moments passed while I stared into the eyes of this man, many thoughts passed in my mind, and then my wife’s voice broke the silence. Hearing the noise she came out, thinking I had dropped something or tripped. I will never forget the look of fear on her face as she looked in our direction. She went back inside swiftly and called 911.

It was thirteen minutes from the time she made the call before I saw the flashing lights come blazing up the driveway. The two cars pulled very close to where I was standing, four officers emerged and stood behind their open doors with weapons drawn, demanding I relinquish my weapon. I froze, I am the one who is making sure the douchebag does not run. I was confused. Moments later I was on the ground, I was rushed from behind, I can hear my wife screaming at them in terror. All I can think is it is Christmas Eve. We were both arrested. I was released early Christmas morning after being cleared of any criminal activity and establishing myself as home and property owner. After processing, my pistol was released back into my custody. Months later he was convicted of attempted armed robbery, armed trespassing after dark with intent to cause harm to persons and property, and finally with the possession of a stolen firearm.

The number one question I have been asked is why I did not shoot and kill this man because the right to do so with my actions protected by Texas laws. Why? Why is a powerful question. My answer has always been simple and has always remained unchanged. Shooting him to kill him never crossed my mind, never even close. It’s not my nature, no matter what, a human life is more valuable to me than things or property, and, eventhough I felt threatened, there was other options which I executed which defused the threat. In the end, I have a conscience which seems to always guide my actions. Yes, I was and remain to this day, mad. The lessons I have learned in my life have served me well and they have taught me that I am not the judge or jury, but just a human being on planet dirt trying to scratch out some kind of a life, like everyone else I can only assume. As far as his release, it isn’t my place to know if he is rehabilitated or not in the allotted time prescribed by the state of Texas. I do know, this experience was a part of the reason I have the security system I still use this very day. I may have lost faith along the way in my fellow humans, but at the same time the safety and security of myself and my family remains very high on my personal list if priorities. Its hard to say live and let live when the idea is more often than not, one sided. Below is a general look at the laws here in Texas, it should not be looked at or taken as any form of legal advice as I put it here for informational purposes only.

Texas law allows a person to use force in the protection of property to prevent or terminate another’s trespass or other unlawful interference with the possession of real or personal property. Deadly force can be used in Texas when the crime against property is classified as arson, burglary, robbery, criminal mischief at night or theft at night. Deadly force may also be used to prevent a person from fleeing with property immediately after the commission of a burglary, robbery, aggravated robbery, or theft during the nighttime if the actor believes that the property cannot be recovered by any other means or the use of force other than deadly force would expose the person to a substantial risk of death or serious bodily injury.

Texas also allows a person to use force and deadly force to protect the personal property of a third party. The use of force is permissible if the person believes that the force or deadly force is necessary to prevent the commission of theft or criminal mischief, or if the person believes that the third party has asked them to protect the property, the person has a legal duty to protect the property, or the third party is the spouse, parent, child or under the care of the person using force.

Born, raised, and protected by guns, guts, and glory.

An Observation In Chance Encounters

As the days get torn from the calendar this week, we find ourselves doing the last minute shopping to ready our son for his first day of the 8th grade this coming Monday. In the midst of all of the grand excitement we found that we had missed a few things on his school supply list. It was only a few items, but still meant a trip to Walmart for my son and I. We decided that we would go yesterday after dinner, just the two of us, father and son, on the hunt in the Walmart jungle. Actually, it was more like a trip to the zoo, but who am I to say. Before we go, I get into my dresser and get a $50 dollar bill, thinking that should cover anything we need to get. My son wants to take my H1 so we went out, got in, and left. Walmart is about 15 minutes from my house so the trip went pretty fast.

Arriving at Walmart at 8:30 pm at night I was really surprised to see the parking lot was at least 80% full. Which means, I assume, that they will have both check out lanes jam packed with long lines. I was able to drive right in to a parking spot, so far so good. Then, as we are getting out of the vehicle, a decked out Escalade pulls into the open disabled spot to my left. The music was so loud that it was rattling car parts on the car directly in front of it. I couldn’t see the driver because the window tint seemed to be darker than my own double limo tint. I had the back door open on that side because I was grabbing socks bought for my son that were the wrong size and needed to be exchanged. Then the driver’s door to the Escalade opens, I hear this woman screaming “where in the fuck does your aunt keep that fucking blue thing for the window, I ain’t fucking gonna park way out in the fucking middle of nowhere”. I heard no reply. She pulled her phone out of her bag and calls whoever and cusses that person up and down for a few minutes. As I walk away, about to bust out laughing, I hear ” excuse me sir, I seemed to have misplaced my blue window thingy, do you have an extra one I can borrow? ” I turned slowly and replied with a simple no, pointing out I have plates, I don’t need the window placard. After she gave me a go to hell asshole glaring stare, she turned to one of the children, around 9 or 10, and told her to sit in the car to watch for the cops, if she sees any to call her so they can leave. WTF? Against my better judgment, my son and I just walked away.

However, once inside, I did locate the store manager, explained about the girl being left inside the car, and she did contact the police. From that point on now, I have no idea what happened. I never saw the lady in Walmart nor was the Escalade parked next to me when we left. She, my friends, is an absolute douchebag. We wait in line at the return counter, one person running one register, behind a half dozen or so people. Finally, my turn, present the bag of socks, present the receipt (4 days old), and get told they don’t exchange. I of course opted for the refund. She processed the return and tells me she has to put the funds on a Walmart gift card. Why? I showed her I paid cash and want cash back. After a short argument, she gets a manager involved to override her transaction, and then gives me my $7.56 in cash. Are these people really this fucking stupid? Of course, there aren’t any carts available, so I sent my son to scavenge one from the parking lot. He returned quickly and we began our seek and destroy mission for the missing school supplies. It is, however, a very short list, just 3 essay notebooks, 1 folder with tabs, and 2 spiral notebooks. Talk about impressed, everything was in one aisle, everything was fully stocked, and we were the only people on that aisle, bonus. Boom, boom, boom, and fucking done! But wait, my list has other stuff on it, I needed 2 a/c return filters which after checking, they had zero, strike one. Over to the groceries, I need cream cheese, check, I need raspberry extract, check, and finally, raspberry pie filling, check. Okay, time to get the fuck out. Time check, elapsed time at Walmart 51 minutes.

Wonderful, all of the self checkout lanes are closed, strike two. Then we just picked a line, which we were in for 20 minutes. But wait, there’s much more. The lady in front of me had three carts, two with groceries, and one with school supplies and clothing. After the first cart cleared, she paid with her food stamp card. When the second one cleared, she paid the over $400 in $20 dollar bills. The items in that basket included alcohol and other food items not allowed by food stamps. After her third cart clears, she uses 5 gift cards, two different credit cards, putting just a little on each one, and paid the remaining $300 in cash. My checkout was easy, paid, and we were out. As we walk out the door guess who has her Escalade parked right at the doors? Yep. The lady in front of me was loading her stuff into the back of it. How convenient, curbside service. This bitch was holding up allot of cars, and they took their sweet ass time doing it. As we walked by I felt her eyes burning the back of my skull and when I turned to look she was proudly displaying a full on double bird and mouthing “fuck you cocksucker”. Awwww, how sweet. My son and I just waived politely and smiled, I don’t think she quite understood our kindness because she looked pissed. To each her own.

I don’t always see random stupid people at Walmart, but when I do they are usually trying to make the other fucktards feel a sense of pride and unity. So what was the point of me sharing all of this with y’all today? Great question! I really don’t know a great answer though, I think I wrote it out of the sadness I feel towards people who are liars, cheats, and thieves. I mean, let’s face it, this wasn’t a rare instance or occurrence, what I saw is the “norm” in our society. Too many people use government assistance as their career opportunity in life, they milk the “system” for their personal paycheck, and the utterly sad and ridiculous part of it all is they know they are scammers and cheats because their lifestyle revolves around it. And yes, our wonderful government enabled it to be this way. Maybe that’s just where humanity is at the present time. I joke with my wife, who doesn’t see the humor, ever, about me thinking I have made the wrong career choices. But, obviously, I like doing things the hard way, the right way, and with a clear conscience. Doesn’t mean I can’t be amused or pissed when I see these people because when I see it happening it does get my bullshit-o-meter pegged out, for sure. OK, sure, be mad at me because I see things and have an opinion about it. You’re probably right, the people I mentioned in this post are most likely legit, honest, hard working individuals, and I have just jumped to very obscure conclusions for no clear reasons. Oh, now I understand, some people like a sugar coating on their bullshit so its easier to swallow. Its cool.

Does Fear Drive Everyday Decisions

Where Ya Been Mr. Bartender?

“Hey @#$%&+,

How come every time I have been into work at the club I get told you aren’t working on that night? Its beginning to become very annoying because I would like to try and get my free drinks from the bartender. Do you remember me? We never talked much but you were always a fucking riot with the games you would play, it was fun and most of us really miss you. I noticed your sign was up again at your bar that states there are free drinks for whoever impresses the bartender with the best flash, trick, or treat. Have you been dishing out as much free booze for tits and ass as you used to? Since I never see you to give you a good show I hope you will accept these pictures as my attempt to get some free drinks. I was going to submit them to your site but noticed you no longer have a section for it. Why not? What happened? Anyway, enjoy the pictures and use which ones you see fit. I will see you around the club I hope, be sure to remember me.

Cheyanne”

I replied separately to Cheyanne earlier but I just wanted to share that sometimes I get good Gan mail. I also wanted to do a shotgun blast sort of explanation in case others were wondering some of the same things. To begin with, yes, I removed the “Show Me” section from this blog. I don’t care to get into why at this point but let’s just say I got a few bitches and complaints which heeded the removal a needed process. However, the versions of pictures I had in the section beforehand were NOT censored in any way, what was sent is what went up. I am gibing the idea more thought now and the section just might show up again. Be it this time pictures will be censored or obscured when deemed fit.

This actually goes for all future posts here. Since I ask for your pictures to accompany you e-mail story submissions I think it is only fair to use what was sent. So, from this point forward, to include e-mails I have waiting right now, I will be using original pictures. If you have no idea what I am talking about just read up on The Magic Weekend and Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories. We’ll see what kind of response I get to the idea of adding back the Show Me section and I will go from there. So far, to date, everyone who has sent in pictures has done a fantastic job. I look forward to more from the shy people in the near future. Y’all now you want to show off and I know it too.

In the event y’all cannot find the information you seek somewhere on this blog please feel free to contact me at anytime and I will promptly get back to you. Again, as always, thanks for making the choice to visit The Sting Of The Scorpion.

Ten Simple Rules For Dating My Daughter

Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk your fucking horn you’d better be delivering a package or a pizza, because you’re sure not picking anyone up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them permanently and mail them to your mother.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their pants so loosely that they appear to be falling off their asses. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete fucking idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your pants securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you. Remember, I own guns and a backhoe.

Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my untouched daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early.”

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka – zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be an older man who has a few miles on him and look very mild mannered. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. I can disassemble, reassemble, and reload my Desert Eagles faster than you can ever run. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I remind you I own guns, a backhoe, and 10 acres of partially wooded property behind this very house. Do not ever fucking lie to me because I will end you and any memory of you.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a common criminal looking for an easy score. When my bullshit meter starts pegging out, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car – there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged presence you might feel will be mine.

Reminder: We live on an enormous piece of wooded property surrounding a good sized pond, I’m a gun owner, and the owner of a rather nice backhoe. Make good choices when with my daughter because I have already made my choices about you.

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Question Your Fight Or Flight Instinct

Is Your Life Fate, Destiny, Or Choice?

Your life is a maze, your life is full of choices, do you leave those decisions to fate, will the wrong choice be your destiny? There are as many answers to the many questions in life as there are individual people on this planet. I don’t think I have ever heard the same answer twice, maybe close, maybe a variation, but never the same answer twice. Have you ever wondered why? What is our fascination, as humans, to need answers to questions. We ask other humans but those other humans are no different than us and are seeking answers of their own. Is it just a vicious little circle? Is there a true meaning to life and why we are here? Here at The Sting Of The Scorpion, as well as in my actual daily life, I tend to stay away from conversations regarding spiritually, afterlife, and the purpose of us being on this planet. Why? Mostly because my opinions vary from Joe Public and they are things that can only be spoken of in theory. I had my bluff called by my children over the weekend, they had questions about two specific times I walked away from death, and they wanted to know some answers. I have spoke here about two times in my life which I, statistically, should have died, but instead cheated death, both times successfully. These two times, coincidentally, do not give me personal pleasure to talk about either, but since I have these thoughts fresh in my skull I figured I would try to put them into a post.

Both instances, both incidents, both brushes with death are very, very long stories, so for the purpose of demonstrating the recent conversation I will condense them and just assume you can fill in the blanks. Both if these occurrences are very true and really happened to me. With that in mind let’s take this journey back in time now. When I was 15 it was time to get my Experimental Aircraft Pilots License because I had been leading, training, and preparing for a very long time. The date was set, the planning was complete, and everyone was in place. Amongst family and friends there were also people from the local newspaper and local television station because locally this was a big deal in the little farming community of Tea, South Dakota. When it was my turn I taxied out, did a final check of my Ultralight, pushed the throttle, and moments later I was airborne setting up for my demonstration of skills. After I had completed my designated moves it was time to bank around to line up for my final approach to begin my decent to land. At 426.3 ft in the air I hit a crosswind shear which stalled my engine which left me doing a nose down unpowered decent towards the ground, meaning I was falling from the sky like a rock falling back to the Earth. I remember the impact and the pain. 10 1/2 weeks later I woke up from the deep sleep I was in, confused, and surrounded by family.

I didn’t know why I was in a hospital room or why I was in so much pain. I was scared because I wasn’t aware what everyone else already knew. Later in the day the room was cleared of everyone except a doctor and my dad. Together they explained the journey I had been on for the previous 2 1/2 months. The impact of the accident caused 32 broken bones, one punctured lung, and my jaw being broken badly enough it had to be wired back together. When I arrived at the hospital in the backseat of my dad’s Volkswagen Thing I was pronounced dead due to heart failure and blood loss. After hours and hours of surgery I was stabilized but remained in a coma holding onto what was still my life. I was visited by a catholic priest later that day, since I had been baptized catholic as a very young boy, and the priest prayed with me while he explained it was not my time to die. To this day I don’t understand that conversation completely or what I was meant to do with the information.

The other time I was 26, while serving in the United States Air Force stationed at Holloman AFB, New Mexico. When I was younger I was a serious adrenaline junkie, I had a passion for going fast, for living life by the seat of my shorts. So much so that I had to buy a Kawasaki Ninja ZZ-R1100 because, at the time, it was one of the only street legal bikes that boasts speeds of up to 175 mph as a stock bike. I got the bike used from a fellow airman who needed to sell it because he was getting stationed in Alaska and he didn’t think he would have the opportunities to ride it any longer. I had other bikes before and after her but this black beast actually was and always will be my favorite. This bike screamed speed and danger which allowed me to take both her and I to our physical limits. I had a part time job in Las Cruces, 68 miles away from my house, under normal driving conditions and speed one can make the trip in just under an hour. I could make it in under 30 minutes on this bike and used to do it regularly in 40 minutes. One summer night, the skies were clear, the moon was bright, and I was running very late getting to my part time job. It takes a moment to get dressed and leave no skin exposed in preparations for riding this bike. After zipping the last zipper I kissed my daughter and (now ex) wife goodnight before tearing ass into the night. There was little traffic on US-70 that night which is the excuse I used to see if my bike really could get to 170 mph and maintain that speed. But, as it stands, I will never know personally because while passing 3 18 wheelers at over 150 mph the bike lost traction, my bike and I were sucked under the trailer and spit out on the other side, resulting in me laying the bike down in a 100+ yard slide into and through the desert. When the dirt settled I stood up, checked my self out, and discovered I was in one piece, more than I can say about my bike.

This was a time before cell phones so I walked back to the highway and started walking back home. Lucky for me an older gentleman picked me up and drove me to the front gate of the base. It was a short walk to my house from there. I woke the wife up to explain and then called my best friend so he could go with me to scoop up the remains of my bike. To say it was trashed would be an injustice to the damage and reminded me what a lucky sonofabitch I really was since that crash should have killed me. Following the scrape from the highway through the desert we saw I went under a barbed wire fence and missed two giant rocks by mere inches. In fact, the lens on my helmet was smashed by the last rock which actually put the final stop for us. We loaded up the parts we found into the back of my truck and drove back to my house on base. It sat in my garage in a twisted heap for roughly six months when I had sold it as is to another speed enthusiast. I vowed then I would never own another invitation to death. A few years ago, much older, in my forties, I bought a Honda Goldwing, a touring bike, so I could get out and enjoy the open air once again. But nowadays, my only risk taking is driving into Houston.

After everything, I still ask if is fate, destiny, or the choices we make daily which allows us to cheat death just one more time. As I sit here I consider myself to be lucky because I have done some stupid shit in my life, hell I used to build explosives for a living, yet I am here today, a survivor of my own mistakes. The maze was found with a Google search, the picture of the tractor is of the remnants of the airstrip I crashed on taken this past March, and that is an actual picture of US-70 taken on a trip in late summer in 2009.

 

Burning An Everlasting Impression

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Better Make The Right Choice