10 June 2018

Uninsured Caribou


Here in Sunstroke, eastern Arizona, temperatures plummeted to a Pleistocene low of 104°F (40°C). Residents claim it’s not real hot yet, but Tripod, the town dog, got stuck peeing on a Jeep tire. Folks now call him Bipod.

Part of Sunstroke’s Main Street started bubbling. Hot asphalt seeped like syrup into the canyon floor, revealing a full-grown Triceratops or perhaps only a 1927 Ford pickup. No one’s sure because the local fire & ladder truck sent to rescue it sank into the tarpit, providing some sort of metaphor.

Last Drop in the Bucket List

Lest you think Arizona is one huge, silicon-to-glass furnace, it does offer varied terrain. With that in mind, I opted to visit the Grand Canyon. It was then I became a killer.

After pumping a tankful of petro-chemicals, I crossed the San Carlos Apache reservation and threaded the switchbacks to connect with Arizona 188. About 3am with my Hawkeye Pathfinder GPS locked on Flagstaff, I headed north into the Tonto National Forest, where the deer and the antelope play.

Deer and elk were plentiful. I slowed for a doe and fawn here, a couple of yearlings there, and numerous adults. Think of elk as a cross between deer and moose. Bull elks average 700 pounds and top 850 (320/340kg). Cow elk weigh in about 500 pounds and max out at 600 (230/275kg). I mention this because…

There in my side of the road stood a doe. I shifted to the left lane and slowed to 40… 30… 20… As I was about to pass, she leaped dead center into my path, taking out the grill and shattering the windshield.

In the headlights of the car, I got out, knelt, and inspected her. She gave a confused little bark and lay quietly. She had to be in great pain. From time to time, she tried to struggle to her feet, not understanding when her hindquarters didn’t cooperate. She was beautiful and brave. My heart broke for her.

elk
photograph courtesy Layna Fields

My rough ’n’ tough, not-so-little brother Glen would have murmured soothing words to her, stroked her, and held her head in his lap, telling her it was okay to let go.

While I'm good with animals, I'm no match for him. Me, I squatted and talked quietly, keeping a healthy distance from elk teeth in case she misinterpreted my words. I needn’t have worried as she poured out her story.

As young bucks are wont to do, her boyfriend had left her. Despondent, she’d thrown herself in front of the train, or rather lacking a railroad, in front of the nearest car.

A couple of hours later, a Coconino County deputy arrived. He combined a good mix of empathy, sympathy, professionalism and practicality. He put down the girl with a solid-slug shotgun. He dragged the elk from the road and down an embankment. “Good meat,” he said regretfully.

The Deerslayer

Following him, I limped toward Flagstaff as daybreak dawned over the forest. A couple of dozen more elk emerged from the woods to glare accusingly at me.

“Damn,” said a friend. “You hit Rambo Bambi’s sister Bambo. My brother asked about the meat.”

As if a rooftop could carry a quarter-ton elk.

Providing no night or weekend service, Bo’s Insurance Agency was smaller than average. When finally connected, much parlance ensued about the top priorities, glass replacement and meat.”

“Why exactly do you need a new windshield?”

“An elk went through it.”

“There’s no elk in it now?”

“Nope.”

“So it’s not a real emergency since you don’t no longer got an elk in your front seat.”

“The deputy said not to drive until the window’s replaced.”

“Oh. Our job would be a lot easier if police didn’t offer advice like that. I reckon you got to take it to a glass shop and get an estimate.”

“What about a come-to-your-door windshield replacement company?”

“They have those?”

“Sure enough, Bo.”

“You don’t got deer insurance. That’s a $500 deductible.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Listen, you find a game butcher to cut up the meat?”

Without mentioning minor details about the previous car, I rented a another. At Williams, Arizona, I took the train to the Grand Canyon.

Elk of all ages wandered through the Canyon village. They gathered around me and unnervingly stared. Spooked tourists cautiously backed away.

“What’s with you and the deer, buddy?”

“Elk,” I said. “I killed one.”

“He killed Bambi!” screamed a child.

“What calibre you use, buddy? Them’s good eatin’. Where do ya dress the meat around here?”

To my surprise, my phone picked up Virgin and AT&T cellular signals, all the more satisfying when those smug Verizon customers scratched their heads in frustration.

My friend Thrush had suggested I visit Sedona. After four days of waiting for a windscreen, I was free to leave Flagstaff. Knowing its lonely AT&T cell tower would fade at the city limits, I phoned to let him know I was on my way south to Yavapai County. I told him about hitting the elk.

“Don’t ask me about meat,” I said.

“I was just gonna suggest a butch…”

Sedona blew me away. Is it sacrilegious to say its craggy red cliffs and chimneys of Sedona impressed me more than the Grand Canyon? Ignoring all the touristy stuff, God put on a great show. For the first time, I was able to get elk out of my mind.

The Verde Valley disappeared in the rearview mirror. I turned southeast into open desert toward Sunstroke in Holyshiteitshot County in the southeast corner of Arizona. Evening set in. While fueling up, an RV owner eyed the car, still with tufts of fur.

“Bear?” he asked.

“Nope. Elk.”

“They make good jerky. What did you do with the meat?”

9 comments:

  1. A truly wonderful story.
    You combined the tragic and humorous in equal parts
    Thank you

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  2. WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE MEAT sounds like a great title. Throw in a chance or a missing person or some sort of escape, a little gunplay and you might have an award-winning short story. Love the dialogue and descriptions.

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  3. Always hard to hit an animal. Here it's white tailed deer that keep the body shops in business.

    Hope rest of your Arizona stay is uneventful.

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  4. Leigh, thanks for a delightful read. As always, your work brings forth memories from my own experiences. The first (and only) animal I've ever hit was a rooster. It ran out in front of the car and right behind it came a large lady that I expected to give me a fussing, but she said the rooster shouldn't have been in the road. Elk? Brings back memories of a trip to Carmel, California, where I ate elk with pistachio sauce. Damn it, Leigh. I'm sure getting old. I'm considering writing my memoirs.

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  5. I borrowed a hotspot this morning, so hello everyone!

    Mary, thank you. I appreciate it, especially knowing some of the matters you're dealing with.

    O'Neil, you put me in mind of a mafia zombie story and a walk-in cooler. Uh-oh. Thanks, O'Neil.

    Janice, in the entire time in Minnesota's Sand Dunes State Forest, I managed to never hit a deer. What bothered me was that some idiots 'for fun' targeted turtles that seasonally migrated across back roads. What gets into some people?

    Fran, that cock-o-the-walk weren't no more. I'm glad the lady understood her suicidal rooster. When you write your autobiography, I want to read the R-rated version.

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  6. One time my dad hit & killed a deer out in the country in eastern Maryland. This was before cell phones & he walked to the home of a black family to call the cops. They asked him for the deer & he promised it to them, but when the cop arrived he said they needed it for "evidence".

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  7. Mmm, Elizabeth, tasty evidence! I wonder what authorities did with the deerburgers?

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  8. O'Neil's right - use "What did you do with the meat" as a title.
    Up here, east river it's deer, west river, antelope or deer. Everywhere it's squirrels (they are the most suicidal little buggers...)

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  9. Quite an experience; so far an Indiana white tailed buck knocked my passenger door mirror into another county. I now use those ultrasonic deer whistler alarms you stick under bumper. Glen

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