A Life Wasted

The Chase

They shot into the dark and I ran as hard as I could. During that run my feet would be cut and badly injured, but at the time I was so pumped on fear and adrenaline I didn't feel the pain. By the time they stopped shooting and started chasing I had put considerable distance between us. They were close enough to hear their cop gear rattle and see light from their flash lights, but they had no idea which way I'd run or where I was now. I stopped running to reduce my noise and walked at a steady pace. Being spotted was bad, but not a total disaster. They wouldn't be able to concentrate a force until daylight so I had some time to open up a distance. I had no idea how long it was until daylight, but I had to use every second of the dark to my advantage.

Soon after the encounter I came upon a paved road. Not just paved, but freshly paved. So recently paved the asphalt was black as swamp mud. No yellow line down the center and no white lines on the side to mark the edge. I don't think I would have considered following any road, except this one was so dark and it's surface so smooth that it just called out to me. While weighing this I walked north. It was pitch black in every direction. The cops behind me in the woods wouldn't move fast enough to catch me, but they would call for help. That help was sure to come down this dark road, which would work to my advantage since I would see and hear their cars long before they could see me. When they came all I'd have to do was to run into the dark woods and let them pass. The other thought, the one that convinced me to stay on the road was that in the morning they would bring in tracking dogs. With an hour old trail through the woods the dogs would track me just fine. I couldn't smell myself, but I likely stunk so bad that a man with a decent nose could track me. It would be simple for blood hounds. But from what I knew about tracking dogs they couldn't track me down this road of freshly laid asphalt. Asphalt had its own smell, one so strong I figured it would overpower my own. Plus every time a car drove down the road it would further disrupt my smell, and add its own smell of gas and rubber.

With a renewed feeling that I might get through this my walk became a run. After all I had endured, running down this perfectly smooth road was pure joy. I was twenty-one years old and in superb shape. I was also motivated beyond explanation. I ran and kept running. The only time I stopped was when I saw the lights of a car in the distance. When that happened I had ample time to move deep into the woods to let it pass. This happened seven times and every time it was a police car. My guess is that I covered fifteen miles before I left the road for the woods. I only did so because the road ahead was bright with the lights of a store. The road had served me well but it was time to leave it.

I have to give a comment here: I believe all that happened to this point and what I am about to describe all happened in the same night. But as I think about all that happened that night and how much ground I covered I question my own memory. It's possible this occurred over two or more days, but I don't think so because I have no memory of daytime events. Still, I am not certain this all occurred in that first night. I'm sure there is an official record that would answer this question, but as I write this I don't have access to it.

While cutting through the woods I came upon a large field bordered with wire fence. Since it was still dark I climbed the fence and crossed the field. Ahead of me I spotted a barn sitting by itself. Seeing the barn I looked around for a house, which I spotted a considerable distance away. I'd planned to stay away from homes, but this barn was such a great distance from the house that I decided to take a look and see if there was anything I could use. A pair of pants would be nice. When I entered the building I saw that it wasn't a barn, but rather an airplane hanger.

Later in life I would earn my pilot's license and would know the plane I saw was a Piper Cub. A thirty year old workhorse of bush country. A dependable airplane and the perfect one for me to run into this night. Perfect if only I knew how to fly. At that point I'd ridden in small planes but never flown one. The thought of being able to fly out of there was so appealing that I leaned in and felt my way around. A flash light sat on the pilot's seat so I turned it on and studied the controls and instruments. For several minutes I considered trying to fly the thing, but grudgingly admitted to myself that doing so would be foolish. I put the flashlight back on the seat. Before leaving the hanger I swore that one day I would learn to fly, which I did six years later.