Wednesday, March 22, 2006
The day we went deer hunting with the truck
I can imagine that you’re likely apalled right now, for one of two reasons: a) Improper use of grammar—You go deer hunting in a truck, not with one; or b) The deer hunting thing—aren’t I a tree hugger? Get the popcorn folks, I’ve got a story for ya.
In the last post I mentioned having gone through Oregon. Very pretty state I wouldn’t mind living in, talk about a green state. My family went on a big ol’ road trip from San Diego up to Canada, and then back down again. My parents took turns driving the truck with a camper on top. (Lots of stops along the way. Even though my sister and I were in junior high at the time, you still have to make lots of stops—kids have the worst attention span.)
It was during the drive back south through Oregon that It happened. I’m in the front seat with my mom driving on one side and my grandmother sitting on my right. My dad is sleeping in the camper. My sister is watching the scenery from the sleeping compartment above the cab of the truck. It’s nearly dark and we’re on this little highway that runs through some dense green forest. It is so beautiful there. From out of nowhere (okay that’s not true, it came out of the forest from the right hand side. But according to my mom it was out of nowhere.) this huge deer bounds out into the middle of the road. My mom swerves to try to go around the deer. She ends up swerving into the deer. SMACK!
The truck is now swerving back and forth as my mom fights to maintain control. We run off the side of the road, barrelling forward at what seemed like, well, very fast. Trees are whipping past us and we’re all being jostled like someone was shaking the truck. I close my eyes because I just can’t look anymore. BAM! We solidly hit a tree and finally stop moving.
A few seconds later I dare to open my eyes. The first thing I see is the family-size bag of corn chips has spilled over. There are corn chips spread all over the floor, they’re everywhere. I remember thinking, “Aw man, what a waste! I love corn chips! Bummer. I wonder if they’re still clean?” (Hey, I was a piggy even as a child.) Then I look up. Oh. Worse problems than spilt chips. The windshield is all cracked and there’s a tree just on the other side. Wow, I thought, we crashed.
I look to either side of me and they seem okay. I hear my sister crying from the compartment above. I hear my dad cursing like a sailor from the camper. (Well he really was a sailor before he retired, so this is expected.) Everyone’s in shock. The next minutes are a blur because I don’t remember who opened the door and when everyone left. I had left my shoes in the camper because I had crawled through the passthrough to sit in the truck. I’m just sitting there by myself for awhile, feet dangling over the side with the door wide open, still in shock. I look down. Is that blood? I look closer. My knee is dribbling blood. Huh. I didn’t feel a thing. I wasn’t wearing my seat belt either. Yes that was dumb. But what happened to my knee?
Awhile later a police officer finds me some shoes and escorts me to sit in the back of his cruiser. I was being arrested! Haha! Wouldn’t that be funny? No, it was cold, so the inside of the car felt soooo nice and warm. I was shaking, half from cold and half from shock. Later that night we check ourselves into a motel.
The next day I find out my sister actually had a tree branch stab her in the leg, hard enough that it cracked her bone. She got fitted for a cast. My dad had been knocked off the seating area where he was sleeping and proceeded to get rained on by canned goods as the cabinets above opened up and emptied their contents onto him. He cracked a few ribs in the process. My mom was covered in bruises from the steering wheel. My grandmother broke her wrist. Me? I gashed my knee. I was lucky. I was sitting up front with no seat belt and I walked away with a bloody knee. I still have the scar.
We went to go inspect the wreckage, and wow, the thing was completely totaled. Completely. I peered into the cab to see where I was sitting. The cigarette lighter had been smashed in and looks a little bloody. I felt proud, I smashed in the metal cigarette lighter of an old truck with my bare knee! And I can still walk!
And the deer? It got flung down the road, it didn’t survive. The ironic thing was that the locals were all waiting for deer hunting season to begin… they were all waiting for that deer! Apparently we out-of-town tourists came and killed their prize buck. Oops. My dad liked to refer to that incident as “the day we went deer hunting with the truck.”
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