13°F Man-sicle

I sat in the driver seat not actually knowing where I was or how I got there.  My friend Jimmy and I were driving down an endless road when I turned to continue our conversation. But things weren’t quite right. I felt an eerie sense of recognition as the surroundings melted and yet we continued. Jimbo looked back and I followed suit. In the rear, I was in disbelief at the scene unfolding. The clenching muscles of a large brown thoroughbred contracted violently and rhythmically. It raced directly at us, behind the vehicle. My foot floored the icy gas pedal. I looked back once again just to realize a detail even more strange than the current predicament. The straining, toothy-grinned horse chasing after our car was wearing my green cycling jersey and on the verge of ripping it with each progressive gallop.

Instantly, the frosty tentacles of reality peeled open my eyes to a dark, familiar tent. What a weird dream. Why? Was it the cold weather? Or the pure-sugar Gu Energy Chomp chewables that I pounded before bed? Or maybe the fact that I told Tess I have been eating like a horse? No clue. I thought you needed to know.

                I was wrapped up in my Northface Cat’s Meow rated at 20 degrees and was uncomfortably frigid. Let me put it this way. I was as cold as the Rockies, and had I been a bottle of Coor’s Light, I would have endorsed a deep-blue, cold activated silhouette of the mountains, ready for your satisfaction. My breath was visible and my feet were stinging, nearly at the point of losing sensation. Urinating on them was not an option at this point. Let me side-track for a moment, considering the fact that you have continued to read my story this far. I don’t know what it is about my pain and suffering that makes for your enjoyment, all I know is that I have had the most positive comments about my instances of misery. Maybe you’re sadistic, I’ll continue with my story.

                Time came to a standstill at 4:05am, as I contemplated my options in approaching the current circumstances as if I had somehow slipped into Inception’s lowest dream stage. My choices were limited considering I did not have a car with a heater to save me. I could…

A. Add on more clothing.

B. Boil water and fill water bottles – place bottles in sleeping bag.

C. Do push-ups.

D. Remain in sleeping bag and start crying.*

(*For those of you who would like the actual answer, you will never know – for clarification, the accounts herein may or may not be accurate depictions of reality. I have to preserve what reputation I have left after earlier postings. Therefore A, B, C were conducted and D is incorrect)

                Something had to be done. I forced myself out of the mummy bag which, although cold, was magnitudes warmer than the rest of my tents interior. I layered myself with clothing which seemed to be lined with a liquid nitrogen interior that branded my skins warm surface. I activated my headlamp and unzipped my tent, exiting into the dark, desolate arcticland the locals called Sergeant, CO. Stumbling, I made my way to the iced-over picnic table which housed my Whisperlite International backpacking stove. Violent shivering took hold as I scoured my pouch for my Boston Red-Sox lighter I had picked up in New York along my route. Here it is, please please please light. After rotating the fuel-injection system clockwise I smelled fuel and Flick[ed] [my] Bic. Flick. Flick, Flick. Flick, Flick, Flick. Please light. You don’t understand how important this is to me little guy, please just this once. Flick, Flick, Flick. Nothing. I’ll do anything for you, ANYTHING. Flick, Flick.

                Flick. I was Tom Hanks in Castaway. FIRE! I was the prehistoric man celebrating the creation of something magical.

I boiled water, placed it in my water bottles, and slipped them inside of my bag. Just before weaseling my way into the comforts of my Cat’s Meow, I did push-ups. Helpful tip #26: Contracting muscles creates heat, so push-ups will help to raise your bodies temperature. I meowed upon entering my thermally sufficient, water heated man-cave of a sleeping bag.

Daybreak. You know the end of a scary movie where the sole survivor recognizes the long-awaited appearance of the sun, backed by light-hearted music signalling the end of something horrible? That was me. I woke up at around 8am and the sun was up. I immediately darted to the comfort of the nearby convience store where the locals told me that the temperature had dipped to 13°F just before dawn.