Humorous Interlude

A visitor to my house yesterday afternoon would have seen a very muddy Colin trudging into his driveway after a 2-mile hike with a 23-pound pack, taken for exercise and to break in his boots for the upcoming ROTC summer course. But yesterday was dry and sunny here in Eastern Nebraska, so why the mud?

Well, to discover the reason, he must retrace Colin's steps about a half mile to the west, where he would find a small bridge (maybe 10-15 yards long) across a stream. An examination of the dirt beneath it would yield the conclusion that boots had climbed down from the road on the west side, stopped beneath the bridge a few yards from the bank, then reappeared on the eastern bank.

With the knowledge that, on his return leg of his two-mile runs and hikes on that route, Colin has been in the habit of hanging from one of the steel girders beneath the bridge and swinging across, the investigator could accurately surmise that Colin had done the same in this case, but would perhaps be confused by the reflection that Colin does not return from those runs so muddy.

So this is what happened...As usual, I jumped up and swung from the girder, making my way across. It had rained heavily two nights before, so the stream was somewhat higher (and a little wider) than usual, and the opposite side was a nasty bank of mud for a yard and a half beyond the edge of the stream.

If I had not had the pack on my back (and I usually don't) I would not have swung about so violently and had to expend as much energy in getting across.

If I was not still sore from upper-body exercises the previous day, I would have had a better grip on the girder.

If, when I felt my grip slipping, I had released with the forward swing instead of trying to hang on for one more reach, I would have fallen further forward.

As it was, all of those are purely hypothetical. My hands just beyond the eastern edge of the stream, I dropped from the backward swing; though I landed on my feet and hands, the mud was deep, and I sunk in to my knees and elbows and did a face-plant (my glasses stuck in the mud-bank aforementioned).

Since I rinsed off a bit at the stream, I don't know how bad I looked, but I can say that when I got back to the house and called inside for a towel, I still was nasty enough that my youngest brother could only ask "Colin! What happened?!"

I'd say the boots are pretty well broken in now. :-)