A full-blown adrenaline rush is among the most fascinating phenomena found in this boundless universe. Anybody who has ever experienced one is familiar with the mental clarity, instant reflexes, and superhuman strength that appears out of nowhere at the moment of peril. Indeed, there is a palpable sensation of being utterly and completely ALIVE, like never before, as if all of life’s unlimited energy were now passing through your body.
You have heard stories of the young mother who stopped the runaway truck just before it struck the baby carriage, the mild-mannered private who became a hero in the heat of battle, and the old man who rescued a drowning child from the Roaring Fork River even though he could not swim. I myself have witnessed time slow down to a creepy crawl, I have sensed the presence of protective angels as Death draws near, and I have felt undiluted adrenal gland juice gushing through my veins like high-pressure water through a fire hose.
What a rush.
While living up in Silverton, Colo., (elevation 9,318 feet) I learned where to go come tourist season: away from the crowd. For during the summer months the more popular trails and well-known Jeep roads would be swarming with humanity and their infernal racket. South of town was one of those out-of-the-way places that is normally only discovered by wild people. After parking my pickup truck on a deserted side road off the highway, I hiked uphill into the pristine forest, roughly following a small spring-fed stream. Since there was no path except for a few faint deer trails, I allowed my feet to wander wherever they wanted. The further I went the more the smell of civilization faded away. It was a pleasant, delightful, even heaven-like stroll through the woods. Until, that is, all hell broke loose.
I saw the bush suddenly shake and shimmy like a large green pom-pom just as a loud and angry growl erupted from within. My first thought was “BEAR.” Then the beast attacked me.
When I realized I might have to fight for my life versus Ursus horribilis, I felt no fear whatsoever, but rather a pure and simple ferocity which instantly translated into a mighty roar and a welling up of primordial passion from deep inside me. I needed a weapon. I looked down and there at my feet lay a dead pine tree roughly the size of a telephone pole. I grabbed hold and lifted it over my head like an axe, ready to wage war.
As the snarling creature emerged from the brush and charged straight toward me, I recognized that it was not a wild bear after all, but instead a big black dog, part Rottweiler, who was apparently intent on making me his next can-of-Alpo meal. However, as he quickly approached I saw the look in his eyes change from mean canine to scared chicken as he saw the look in my eyes — or perhaps just noticed the battering ram in my hands that was about to bludgeon him to a bloody pulp. In a split second — which seemed longer — the table was turned. The dog hit the brakes, then reverse, then took off sprinting in the opposite direction like a greyhound at the racetrack!
While the imminent threat of being eaten alive by a furry monster was now obviously over, I was feeling ornery. As ornery as a Viking berserker about to run amok. I decided to have some fun. So, utilizing the tremendous power that I now possessed cruising through my blood like liquid dynamite, I began pursuing the terrified animal through the forest while wielding the tree trunk in the air like a baseball bat.
“You better run!” I yelled.
After a short ways the whimpering dog entered a meadow with me not far behind. And there on the other side of the clearing stood his human companions, a young man and woman who appeared to be wearing brand-new hiking apparel and toting just-purchased packs. When they beheld the caveman with the humongous club chasing their poor puppie through the woods, their two jaws simultaneously hit the ground even as their eyes enlarged to the size of golf balls.
At this point I could not help but burst out laughing at the bizarrely beautiful scenario playing out before me. Dropping my improvised weapon and calling off the hunt, I doubled over in uncontrollable laughter which lasted several minutes.
Meanwhile, the freaked-out couple and their thoroughly panicked pet raced away as fast as their feet could fly, occasionally glancing backward in sheer terror at the deranged Neanderthal who had just ruined their day and possibly entire vacation. Even though I presented no further threat, they were not taking any chances and chose immediate retreat as their course of action, soon disappearing into the dark timber. I wouldn’t be surprised if the three of them never again ventured out on a hike, except perhaps through a nice, safe, city park. But imagine the story they took back home to tell the folks!
Just now, reliving that day some 23 summers ago, I vividly recall the sudden surge of adrenaline, the exhilaration of the chase, and the wonderful physical sensation of having the strength of five men instead of one. I remember scaring the hell out of a bear who tried to scare me.
Okay, all right. Maybe it wasn’t really, actually, literally a bear. But I sure thought it was, at least at first.
Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Curt Melliger writes from Montezuma County, Colo. His second book, Where the Weeds Grow, will be released in 2021 by Ozark Mountain Publishing.
