A. K. A. Loose Canon
Some people risk death because they love the sea too much, or the sky too much, or the mountains, or the deep. Earth and the stars are that compelling. We will not stave of death by cleaving to the shallows.
I admit to an addiction for the glorious immensity of the sea and the gigantic empty spaces of the heights in the Alps. Unfortunately, the rush of blood from fear on a powerful motorcycle in full-throttle acceleration is a powerful addiction too.Old age will be a relief if I escape this love of getting close to my end by my own stupid choices. I must have told you guys a few years ago about losing my footing on a steep, gravelly slope and sliding a few tens of meters. I showed up at the apartment covered in blood and my daughter turned white just be looking at me come in the door. Poor kid. I smiled like a good daddy just happy to see her hoping to let her get off the fear by pretending all that blood was just a weird joke. Funny, but it was her relaxing and smiling at me that calmed my fear, actually. I was scared to death on that slope thinking that for sure I would keep on sliding until I ended in an ice-cold and very fast-running steep stream bed and hit the gigantic fast-running stream at the bottom of the canyon.It scared the shit out of me. Wish you bastards had been there afterwards for a couple beers of decompress and make fun of retarded roT that thinks he's Reinhold Messner, but actually going for dead wetback of the year.
I had a few close calls myself. The latest one was totally stupid -- tripped while walking along the rocky cliffs near Saint Tropez, kind of in a daze for lack of water, and too much sun, and that amazing smell of the maquis. Flew face first into the rocks, and hit my Adam's apple. Oucchh! That hurt for many months after. Doc told me I could easily have had the trachea perforated, and met my Maker right there and then. Jeez. We will not stave of death by cleaving to the shallows. That's an amazing line, AA.It scared the shit out of me. Wish you bastards had been there afterwards for a couple beers of decompress and make fun of retarded roT. Wish I was there, too. But you never invited me to come! I shoulda, nevertheless. Bummer.
Tecs, did you run into the Maquis de Sade? Funny that the French have sex-shops.
Would've been even better, AA, if ya spelled "stave off" right. Id est, it ain't "stave of." But yeah, modulo your University of Chicago spelling, what a strong line and I wish I had written it. I think I will go up on the Massif there one of these close years coming, God willing. Specifically, I'd like to go up in Christmastime.
I was in Chamonix at Christmastime way back when Jimmah was messing up things. Real beautiful out there. Weren't you supposed to meet Charly there, sometimes last Fall?
Tecs, sorry about your accident and I am damned happy that you made it through. An accident like that when you're alone makes you meditate on the danger you would've faced if you'd been alone and you were bleeding a lot instead of just hurting like hell. Both are awful, but the blood really puts me into a terror because I think to myself in that kind of situation that if there's no one around and if I pass out and have to lie there for hours on the off chance that someone will pass by, then I die horribly.Docs always do that scare shit--of course this does not mean they're wrong. When I busted my knee on a motorcycle (yes, I almost repeat myself--how the hell else does a normal bust his knee?) the goddam orthopaedist decided he would teach me a lesson about bikes and beer in combination. I think I have already told Tecs in person that the Doc bent the busted knee till that ankle touched and even pressed the same-side buttcheek. That was the most pain I have ever experienced in my life, certainly. In addition to hurting like hell, it also freaked me out of my head. The fragments of the patella spread finding a comfortable place for each one of them on the surrounding meat, regardless of whether it was comfortable to me. That was painful but the psych was unforgettable, of course, since I had never felt bones move against each other and. It was more yuck that ouch, but obviously, there was plenty of each.
I always ask pinko Charly to meet us in Courm. I doubt that he has come by Chamx lately or certainly he would have called. I think he sticks to the Mercedes-Ferrari belt in Schweitz and in that mediaeval horse-eating "paradise" he needn't rub elbows with rabble like us.He doesn't cling to bitter clingers that hated foreigners even before we tried to understand how his head works.
On theme, but on a slightly different note: I was once up in the Carpathian mountains, in the dead of winter -- just me and a buddy (he does physics, smashes particles for a living). Minus 20 centigrade, wind blowing, all white, miles and miles from any civilization, no food, rather skimpy clothing. So far, so good. Kind of on edge, though, getting a bit worried. Looking at the sun going down gives me a sinking feeling that I may have to spend the night curled up in the snow: no good. And then: howls. Blood-curdling wolf howls, out there beyond the trees. Boy, did I start pumping those legs like mad! And, no margin for error, can't get lost, or else I figured I'd be someone's meal that night. Long story short, we made it down that mountain, into some frozen wasteland of a village. But I can still hear those howls in my mind.
Sounds like a nightmare, Tecs. I am glad you got out and didn't have to roll around on the ground with those doggies that have a very different idea of playing.I looked at the wikipedia article about the Carpathians. The article in very interesting and the park in which you nearly were devoured looks beautiful. What exactly am I doing in pinko-bad-cooking Vienna again, particularly after noticing that the prettiest girls in town are Romanian?What a maroon!
Just get back in shape, hop on a Harley-Davidson, and head East, young man. The wolves and the girls are waiting.
Watch out for those bolts of lightning, thou.
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