Starship Enterprise: Have you seen me?

I never dreamed I might live to see a day so dark. Starship Enterprise is gone. Beings unknown removed it from the back garden at Starfleet Headquarters. I suspect those evil Klingons had a hand in this. Perhaps you have seen it. The hull is black duranium steel. The warp engines extend aft and are made of exotic hardwood. A pneumatic disk forward provides directional stability and anti-gravity services. What’s that you say? You think I described a wheelbarrow? Well, the untrained eye might make that mistake. My grandchildren and I knew better. We shared many adventures aboard our Enterprise and visited every corner of the known universe. With a compliment of three and propelled by the warp engine, moi, we raced the space lanes, vaulted space curbs and maneuvered among the stars and comets of the galactic neighborhood. Now, our ship is gone. Our adventures? Ended.

Starship Enterprise

Have you seen me?

I am ashamed to admit I do not know exactly when the Big “E” vanished. I was preparing HQ for a diplomatic fete when I noticed her missing from space dock. I amassed a small mountain of space leaves and sought the starship to transport them to a remote part of the galaxy. Imagine my disappointment.

Worse, if word of the loss reaches the crew, they will be heartbroken. There is no cure for it except to issue NCC-1701A. (NCC = Naval Construction Contract) I am thinking the new Enterprise might be red. I am off to “Space Depot.” I shall not disappoint my intrepid explorers. Besides, we have a new recruit who, after weaning, might wish to take a turn around the galaxy in our star cruiser. Enterprise shall rise again.

Then there are those annoying space leaves…

Ride Goeth Before A Fall

Devoted readers may recall my Sunday deer hunting adventure. I was almost as good as new on Monday morning. In fact, when I stepped outdoors the weather was perfect. Clear skies, balmy temperature and zero wind were too much to ignore. In moments, I was relishing life from the saddle of my trusty mountain bike.


I was at the top of my game, pedaling as fast as my exuberance would carry me. After weeks of flooding, the pavement was dry at last. Wind rushed through my hair, or at least what is left of it, and my MP3 player pumped my favorite Rock ‘n Roll tunes into my head. Sunshine lit my path and warmed my skin as I swooshed around curves and downhill.

In retrospect, that was the problem. I was enjoying the ride too much. I offended the bicycle and trail gods with my hubris. Retribution was at hand.

I sped down a particularly steep hill toward a curve. This curve was under water until recently. The water left a deposit of dust fine enough to lubricate a clock.


I entered the curve as master of all I surveyed. I exited it as a puzzled soul feeling the great weight of mortality. My concern stemmed from the fact I was seeing sky where pavement ought to be. My brain formed the thought “Uh…” WHAM! “Oh,” The brain finished. The full mass of planet Earth landed on me. I skidded to a stop, surprised and dazed. I lay inert for a time, contemplating various philosophical ideas like “If a cyclist gets creamed on the trail will help arrive before the vultures?” Seconds later, all my thoughts turned to the list of body parts filing damage reports. I began an inventory. Hands? Stinging. Head? Not functioning. Torso? Aching. Legs? One bleeding and the other afraid to move.

As I lay inert, feeling began to return to my parts. These were not good feelings, either. I tried to get up. Ugh. Nope. After a while, I discovered a way to get on my feet. I leaned on the bike and began shuffling toward the nearest trail exit. By the time I reached civilized pavement, more parts were working. I gingerly eased a leg over the bike and tried pedaling. It worked. Slowly, I rode toward home.

Today, I celebrated one week of recovery. I have only three bandages left and they are tiny compared to the gauze wraps I needed during the early days. I limp a bit, but I can use my hands to hold a fork without wincing. That is real progress.

In a few more days, I will be back in the saddle, only more cautious than before.  No pictures this episode.  Too gruesome for young eyes, like mine.

The Hunt

I would like to say at the outset, I do not suffer from blood lust, particularly when it comes to deer. In my youth, I hunted like the character Will Muny in the movie Unforgiven. I shot nearly everything that walked, crawled or flew. Now, I am all murdered out. The thought of killing a deer, or any game for that matter, immediately brings to mind the unmaking of the beast. Then, my conscience reminds me of the delicious and inexpensive meats available at my local Costco. Such thoughts can sap anyone’s enthusiasm for harvesting fresh meat.

We arose early Sunday morning. I cooked a hot breakfast to sustain us through the day. Had I known what was in store, I might have dipped into something a bit stronger, say crack cocaine. We made the drive to the ranch (In these parts, they say “Rainch.”), arriving an hour before dawn. (I took a photo of the Somervell County Courthouse at about 0530!) We silently donned rifles, binoculars, skinning knives, pistols, hats, grenades, MP3 players and other paraphernalia necessary for our primitive adventure. Then, dressed as Redneck insurgents, we trudged through the darkness toward our hunting stands. After six weeks of rain, the earth squished as we walked.

Climbing into a ten-foot tall, wobbly and leaning deer stand in the pitch darkness is no mean feat. If I fell, I would land in the center of a collection of sharp, explosive gear and on top of a cactus. No good could come of that. We reached our perches without incident and began the long wait for Bambi’s father.

As I waited, I discovered my stand was next to the tree home to fifty thousand starving mosquitoes. Batting at them took my mind off the fact that one leg of my stand was sinking into the earth a little faster than the other two. If the list increased, I would eventually topple onto that earth.

No deer were available for shooting. We decided to visit a few local sites, including an old (1886) Norwegian church, St. Olaf’s Kirk. We stretched our legs and I took a few photos. Once refreshed, we returned to the hunt. Still, there were no deer. Part of me was disappointed, maybe insulted, the deer did not show. The rest of me was glad I would not be field dressing a carcass in the mud. I could live with that.

When we had enough empty silence, we walked back to the truck. Deer hunting without deer is very boring and even a little stressful. I found myself thinking “C’mon, you. Show up!” At the truck, we disarmed, disrobed and disinfected ourselves back to civilian configuration. Now, all we needed to do was drive home to hot showers, warm meals and early-to-bed. It was going to be a perfect day, after all.

When we arrived, I parked the truck at the end of a 200-foot road in the pasture. We kept close to the county road and away from the remote pastures for fear of sinking in the muddy earth.

It turned out we were a tad short on fear. I nudged the Toyota toward the gate and the hard surface road just beyond. After a hundred feet, I felt a sinking sensation and the truck seemed to get closer to the earth. Much closer. We were stuck. We were within sight of safety and solid earth less than 100 feet away. Reflexively, I gunned the engine. No progress. I slammed the transmission into reverse and revved the engine. The truck moved inches. Then I slammed the shifter into second gear and crushed the accelerator to the floor. We gained inches. A nearby debris pile provided wood, which we stuffed under the tires.

Did I mention black, gooey mud covered me from head to foot? Did I mention grass and twigs covered the mud? No? I was quite a sight. The truck fared no better and I wondered how the car wash people would react to a truck apparently made of mud, twigs and grass.

After a long struggle, the truck managed to wallow out of the mud and onto the county road. We drove home in silence, too exhausted to either laugh or cry. Still, I reckon it was a successful trip because I did not have to field dress a carcass and THEN be stuck in the mud.