For a boy of fifteen years I had more adventures and near death experiences then I had a right to own, and I knew it. Somehow I felt I could beat the odds and nothing could catch me, hurt me or kill me.  I made good friends, bad friends and the wrong friends.

This particular weekend I ended up with the wrong friends, the wrong place and at the wrong time. It started off alright, I met a wild daredevil girl, you might know the type, fit, crazy, full of life, like a wild horse that indulged a young mans imaginations. This was going to be the weekend that would ignite my roman candle.

She and her friends invited me up to Northern Ontario for the weekend. Without hesitation I grabbed what I needed and the things I thought I was going to need. I can't recall how we got to the old run down farm house but I remember a 1957 Chev sitting half refurbished in the lane way. Red and white of course with shinny rims. Behind that was an old Silverado pick up truck.

We smoked lots of pot, drank beer and then piled into the back of the pick up truck. The driver peeled out with about ten of us in the back. Paved roads were a luxury on this trip and the driver managed to hit every bump as he howled with delight. My cowgirl was standing up behind the cab, while banging on the roof, laughing her head off like a banshee out of hell. I was sitting down holding on for dear life, pretending to love it.

At some point the truck skidded to a stop while entering a ditch, we were slowly turning over, everyone bailed as the truck flipped into the bottom of the ditch. Everyone but me was laughing.  The driver crawled out  hysterical as he removed the keys.  Everyone started high fiving.

We started to walk back to the house drinking what beer we could salvage. Once there the family had a big bonne fire going. We sat down had a weeny roast as I conspired to get my weeny into a nice warm bun.

Later that night  we entered the home. The gruff father and weather beaten mother of my new found love were having a good time. The mother directed us to put down our sleeping bags in the living room where we would all be sleeping. At that point big ol' red skin dad picked up the salt shaker, the old fashioned type with a shinny domed head, looked right at me and said, " if I see anything that looks like this in the night I'll shoot it off".  Big laughter to follow. Except from me.

I was noticeably terrified at this point and momma bear placed her hand over the salt shaker lowered it down, and said, "stop it you're scaring him, there won't be any target shooting tonight. " Big laughter to follow. Except from me.

True Story!

Uploaded 10/16/2010
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