Weird Statistics

In my younger days, and being very much the  bum I roughed it for a year living in a pickup truck camper  much like this.  My best guess would be that I had about sixty square feet of living space, plus the bunk over the cab of the truck.  I had electricity via a all weather extension cord from my parent's house.  I had a kitchen,  sort of, and a toilet that didn't work, and a 13' black and white TV.  It really was roughing it, no cable, just the big three major broadcast network, ABC, NBC and CBS.   I do remember watching portions of Princess Diana's funeral on it.   The astute amongst you can probably determine what year that would have been.

The camper was an oven in the mid-western summers, and a deep freeze in the Missouri winter, mostly bearable during the other times of the year, which, in Mid Missouri were almost non-existent that year.

Hot, muggy nights were spent with a small electric fan in my bunk.   On many occasions that I used a one-gallon jug of ice in front of the fan as a "redneck" air conditioner.  Winter nights were just the opposite.  I had no heat, and little insulation.  That winter, I wore long johns, yes, with the flap in the back, sweats, fingerless wool gloves and a knit cap whenever I tucked myself into my heavy duty, army surplus mummy bag.   Still damn near froze my ass off.   Oh, and the roof leaked.  Those could have been the beginning of weird statistics.  “Extreme weather kills one man in camper.”

There are four things that happened that year that could have led to more weird statistics.  One summer night I was sitting in the doorway enjoying both a cigarette, and the sounds of a rural Missouri evening, coyotes, whippoorwills, crickets and other sounds of the night when I glanced skyward and just happened to catch brief sight of a meteorite.  I blinked and it was gone.  Now this shooting star didn’t show a tail and there was little light pollution to obscure the shooting star.  Without a visible tail, my thoughts were that little piece of space dust was headed straight at my noggin.   I don't know how close I was to becoming one of the weird statistics.  “Man killed by falling star.”

About that same time, I was visited, or more likely, invaded by a ruby throated humming bird.  Belligerent little bastard, he thought my camper should have been his. We finally came to an understanding; as long as he left peacefully there wouldn't be a dead hummingbird.  Weird statistic time again.  “Man killed in freak humming bird attack.”

The April before I moved on to greener pastures, and a home that was much more conducive to being called a home, a natural gas pipeline some seven miles away exploded and burst into flame. The initial shock wave woke me; my camper was none too sturdy at times.  The sound however, is what made me think that I was going to be another weird statistic. "Man in camper killed by tornado." I remember lifting the curtain and peering into the night sky looking for signs of foul weather.  Seeing nothing but clear skies, I could still hear the roaring freight train sound of the gas burning and I set out to investigate.   I could see the column of flame on the horizon.  The volunteer firefighters on duty that night did not look like they wanted to be the first ones on the scene.  They were driving prudently and observing the speed limit.   Aside from my father, they were the only ones who did so on that county two-lane highway.

The final memorable event happened one winter morning.  The zipper on my mummy sleeping bag got stuck, in the up and locked position. I couldn't get out of the bag.  Not so good, when you're a little claustrophobic and there was no way to call for help. Weird statistic time again.  “Man dies in freak sleeping bag accident.”  After that, I started sleeping with a sharp knife within easy reach.

Now, I’m in less danger of being one of those weird statistics, I'm too old for that kind of nonsense now...