Note: I would've finished this story (or group of stories) last night, but continuing my year of mishaps, misadventures, and just overall bad luck, another gnarly storm rolled through last night and knocked out our power and wifi for about 20 minutes. I don't have cell service out here in Elizabeth, Colorado, so I couldn't do much but wait out the storm with my half brother's dad and siblings. I was in the basement the whole time, but not because I was even aware of potential weather. It's just much quieter, cooler, closer to the wifi router, and a floor below the party animals. I thought someone was messing with the breaker box when the power went out, because I heard a series of clicks that was actually hail hitting the basement windows, and I was on my way to yell at whoever was messing with it. But when I reached the foot of the basement stairs, I heard Hannah (my half brother's half sister who is 15) and Ryder's girlfriend panicking as they ran down the basement stairs with their phones, and they almost ran me over. They're both city girls from the Canadian mountains. They're not used to the wide open plains, or the storms that blow through. I grabbed them both and told them to shush it, calm it, and we'd be just fine, and they surprisingly listened. But Ryder's girlfriend gets pretty clingy when she gets scared, and refused to let go of me until Ryder joined us downstairs. She's got claws for nails, which she only dug deeper into my arm the more I tried to get away. When the wifi came back on, my laptop had logged me out, thus logging me out of everything else, and I lost a lot of work. Anyways, I'll rewrite the stories as I remember them.
They're stories my family (more specifically, my dad's side in Minnesota) have all told me. I wish I took more pictures of the pictures in the family albums while I was at the farm, but I didn't. Interestingly enough, I was in the middle of writing about a storm that turned my uncle Wes into the most religious man in the family, when the power went out and killed my wifi. Fun times....
However, before I get into family stories, yesterday I had some fun times. Ryder is my half brother's half brother, and is 18 years old. He has a dirtbike that actually runs good, but is much larger than my dirtbike. His is a 2014 Suzuki 450cc four-stroke, and mine is the Honda CR80 (80cc) two-stroke. I can have a chance at winning a race against a 250cc four-stroke, but not with Ryder's beast. However, I couldn't resist the urge to ride when Ryder challenged me to a race.
Hannah just got her driver's permit, and can't wait to get her license, so Clarke (her and my half-brother's dad) decided to take her out in her car. Ryder's girlfriend and my little half-brother sat in the back, while Clarke sat up front to give Hannah directions. I won't mention Ryder's girlfriend's name, since she is a popular Youtube, Instagram, and Musically star. She posted my account in her Instagram stuff, and I don't know if y'all really want to see the all dumb stuff I do in my free time.
(Plus, since she posted me to her instagram, I gained over a quarter of the followers I've gained in the last four years in under an hour. I've since gone private, started blocking people, and haven't accepted any more requests. I had 1,105 (mostly inactive) followers two days ago, and suddenly I made it to 1,714 active followers before I went private and started blocking everyone). I currently have 1,508 followers, another 500 follow requests, and over 100 likes on most of my recent pictures (which is dropping as I block people). So yeah.... Don't let popular social media stars tag you in their things unless you want a taste of instant fame, which is something I really, really don't want.) Anyways...
Hannah followed Ryder and I to the end of the road, and then turned around when we did. Clarke stuck his head out the window and gave Ryder and I a 10 second countdown. I pinned the throttle as soon as the countdown ended, and rapidly sped off through all 5 gears. Two-strokes have this advantage called the powerband, which allows it to go a lot faster than four-strokes in the lower gears. Two-strokes are also way lighter than four-strokes. Four-strokes work better the higher you go, and two-strokes are the opposite. Still, I can go about 65 mph uphill here on the high plains, and a lot faster downhill. Only, I'm about as weightless as my dirtbike, and once I reach that 65 mph mark, I start to struggle against the wind. The wind just loves to lift me off my seat.
Meanwhile, Ryder is a lot bigger than me and so is his bike, so he has a lot less trouble riding at high speeds. Ryder was right next to me at the crest of the hill, and as we charged down it, he passed me. We were headed westward, against the 20-30 mph winds of an approaching storm. I was way beyond my speed limit, and I panicked when the wind caught my helmet visor and my hoodie and nearly picked me up. So, I held onto the throttle and clutch with white knuckles, bent down low so my nose was at level with the front number plate on my bike, and slowed down significantly, pulling off to the side to let Hannah drive past me.
"Holy hell! I thought were gonna crash!" Ryder shouted as I pulled up next to him, "I saw you get lifted off the bike."
"Oh crap, and how fast was that?!" I asked as I killed my dirtbike's engine.
"Eh, about 80." Ryder shrugged, "Something like that. But I felt it too, so I slowed down. But damn, you're a stick!"
"Shut the hell up, Ryder." I laughed as I rolled my eyes.
"And (insert Ryder's GF's name here) got it all on Instagram." Ryder announced.
"Aw shi-"
"See!" Ryder's girlfriend interjected as she leaned out the window and showed me the video she took.
"Yeah ok, that's cool. You didn't ta-"
"Oh, don't worry, I tagged both you and Ryder. Your name wasn't in the video for long, but Ryder's was!" Ryder's girlfriend smiled, "Do you want to pose for a picture so your name is in my story longer?"
"Uhm... No thanks. I'm just gonna go home now." was all I said before kicking my bike back to life and heading back, "I don't like fame!!"
Ryder's girlfriend shouted something along the lines of "Are you sure?" as I rode away.
I'm definitely not the only daring speed demon in the family, in fact, my dad and his brothers all love going very fast, and these days my Minnesota cousins hold weekend county road truck races at 2 in the morning. While most people might find that entertaining to watch, I just find it extremely irritating, especially if I'm just trying to have a quiet past-midnight snack by the bonfire. It shouldn't come to a surprise that my cousin Troy (who is 23 years old), has totaled 10 vehicles, most of those he rolled. Of course, my uncle Wade has a lot of extra money, even after taxes, essentials, and charities, so he doesn't really mind. Every year, my cousins participate in the demolition derby, and they've won every time in the last few years.
My uncle Wade knows about rolling things all too well. I know I wrote this story before, but I forgot important details and events because I was tired, and I oversimplified it to the point where the story got boring compared to the whole thing.
Not even a decade ago, Wade was hauling a semi truck full of milk in a Nebraska blizzard. As he drove around a bend, he skidded on black ice and rolled seven times in the ditch. When he finally stopped, Wade's truck was resting on the driver's side, and the passenger-side door was shoved somewhat into the trailer full of milk. The windshield was shattered and resting somewhat on Wade's lap. When Wade tried to push open the passenger-side door, he couldn't, but he knew it was the only way out. He remembered he kept a tire iron under the passenger-side seat, and reached down in the dark to find it. Miraculously, it was pretty close to where Wade had remembered keeping it, and he used it to smash through the passenger-side window. Gallons and gallons of milk came rushing in, and if Wade didn't have a firm hold around the passenger-side window frame, he would've drowned.
He pulled himself outside, and face-planted into the waist-deep snow, completely soaked in milk and bleeding profusely from several places. Wade remembered driving by a house just before he crashed, so he trudged a mile or so the way he came, praying to God his sense of direction and memory were correct. He was shivering severely, and struggling to walk through the snow and against the 50 mile per hour winds. But he held onto the hope that there was a house nearby, and that hope grew greater when he saw nearby lights just ahead.
When he reached the front porch, Wade pounded on the door and screamed for help. An old lady armed with a shotgun and surrounded by several large dogs answered, and when she saw Wade, she immediately dropped her weapon, commanded the dogs back to wherever they came from, and pulled Wade in by his coat. He was shivering so hard he couldn't speak or even walk any further. So, with the hospital on the line, the lady helped Wade into some warm fresh clothes, made him some tea, and had him sit in front of the fireplace wrapped in almost every blanket she could find. An hour and a half later, the ambulance finally arrived. It was too late to give Wade any stitches, but the ambulance still took him away and treated him for hypothermia and other injuries he suffered.
Wade was able to get the lady's name and address, which he used to send her a letter with a $100 gift card and the clothes she gave him. In the letter, he expressed how thankful he was to be alive, and how he couldn't repay her for her help. He even wrote down his number for her to call anytime. A couple weeks later, the lady called him to ask how he was doing and to talk. It turns out, the lady had lost her son in a car wreck a few years before, and Wade reminded her of him. She thanked Wade for helping her get a little more closure, and said that he made it possible for her to help her son one last time. Wade kept a relatively close relationship over the phone with the lady until she passed away a few years later.
My uncle Wes is an interesting character. Wes and I share a lot in common. We're both extremely introverted, intelligent, God-fearing people who would love nothing more than to be left alone in the wilderness with our guns and fun. Wes wasn't much of a trouble-maker. He was a huge nerd growing up, and if he wasn't obsessed with science and building cool stuff, he was working alongside Wade on the farm. As of now, Wes is a computer engineer, and has several other degrees including a degree in architecture. He used his architecture degree to design a custom home, which he built 17 years ago and is still adding onto this day. Wes is a huge perfectionist and clean-freak. I wouldn't call him OCD, but he wants things to be as modern, clean, and comfortable as possible.
Wes designed his house with a steel frame and steel siding, and built into the side of a hill. There's two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, as well as the kitchen, den, and dining room, and a master bedroom in the basement, near an unfinished living room with a walkout sliding door. The living room will eventually have a back wall, and behind that wall there will be more rooms, but as of now, there's just a large, dark empty space behind the framework. His entire property is surrounded by strategically planted trees which help to block wind, snow, and provide some peace and privacy. There's a back pasture that Wes's woods and house open up to, and my grandma's farm can be seen just across the pasture. It's very comfortable and peaceful, and is my favorite place on the family property.
Wes has had a handful of near-death experiences, but nothing that really made him into the guy he is today. Before one fateful afternoon, Wes "didn't have time for God." He didn't think God existed, and would sleep in on Sundays and never bowed his head in prayer. He was (and still is) the pessimist in the family, and even today, he's super skeptical of everything, often overly protective, and quick to anger (unless you're his kids, and in that case, he's got the patience of a saint). While he's definitely a Christian today, he was definitely more of an atheist when he was a teenager and young adult.
Somewhere between 1990 and 1992, my dad was teenager and Wes was just getting into adulthood. Wes and my dad still lived with my grandparents on the farm. On this day, my dad was at a friend's house in Hammond, Minnesota; about 20 miles southwest of the farm. Wes was on his way home from work, and my grandparents were at the farm with my oldest cousin, Colton, who was no more than 4 years old at the time.
My dad's friend's mom was super overprotective of her kids. She didn't let my dad's friend go out without a strict curfew, and she needed to know the parents of her son's friends. So, when the sky turned an ominous green and the wind began to howl, she freaked out and forced my dad and his friend to turn off the Nintendo and join her and the rest of the family in the basement. The power went out as soon as they settled on the couch downstairs, and the crappy battery-powered radio the mom brought down only got bits and pieces of what was going on. For the most part, it sounded like the storm was gonna miss them just to the north. My dad relaxed until he realized what that meant; his house was gonna get the worst of it.
Meanwhile, my uncle Wes was on his way home from work. He was convinced he was gonna die. There wasn't any rain, but the wind was blowing dust high into the air. Wes couldn't see through the dust, and the wind blew his truck into the ditch twice as he desperately raced home. Somehow, Wes did make it home, but he was faced with a new challenge. He pulled up as close to the house as he could, and jumped out without a second thought. The winds were probably blowing about 80 miles an hour, as they nearly ripped the driver's side door off its hinges when Wes pushed it open. Wes had to cling to the railings on his way to the front storm door, which was the only thing between him and the house, and slowly pull himself forward. This time, the door was ripped off the hinges when Wes opened it, and he had to throw himself inside. Wes said he had to hug the door frame on the way in, because otherwise he would've been sucked back outside.
Wes tripped on his own feet, but quickly sprang back up and began to run around the first floor of the house in search of his family.
(Before I continue, I'll explain the important layout of the first floor. Wes entered through the front door, and once you get inside, the kitchen is immediately to your right, and straight ahead of the front door is a long hallway that goes the length of the house, and at the end of this hallway is a back storm door leading out to the clothesline. In that long hallway, there's a garage door to the left, and to the right is the washer and dryer. If you walk about 5 feet further, there's a small closet-type space to the right. There's a single step going down into this closet space, and then a door leading into the basement. Grandma didn't keep many shelves in the hallway or the closet space, but she did keep a shelf for shoes and a few coat hangers, and also kept a shelf with motocross helmets and boots in the closet space.) Anyways...
Wes didn't find anyone, but heard a faint whimpering coming from the closet space in the hallway, and rushed over to investigate. My grandparents were huddled together with Colton between them. Grandma was visibly shocked to see that Wes there. She assumed he either took shelter elsewhere or was laying down in a ditch. Wes explained to her that they needed to go to the basement, because something huge was coming. Grandma protested, saying that grandpa couldn't go downstairs, which is true. Grandpa needed someone to basically carry him down there, and grandma wasn't strong enough to do that. Wes was however, and helped grandpa to his feet by getting under his shoulder. Grandma picked up little Colton and rushed down the basement stairs, while Wes helped grandpa downstairs. Grandpa still had some use of his legs back then, but he didn't have balance, so Wes had to keep his balance for him. Just as they reached the basement floor, there was dramatic pressure change followed by a horrendous roar. Wes said his ears hurt from popping so violently, and the sounds of glass breaking and things being thrown around didn't help. Grandma huddled against Wes and grandpa with Colton in her arms, and all they could do was stand there until the storm stopped.
At some point, my grandparents began to pray aloud, while Wes just stood in absolute terror as they heard their farm being ripped apart just above their heads. Wes suddenly remembered the bible story where Jesus commanded the storm to end, and it did. He suddenly found himself silently praying, and very quickly the storm subsided. Wes waited until he was completely sure the storm was over, before leaving my grandparents and Colton downstairs to investigate the damage. It wasn't as bad as it sounded. Both storm doors were gone, all the shelves in the hallway were knocked over and stuff was strewn about on the floor. There was glass and gravel all over the floor, and the windows on the western side of the house were blown out (thankfully, there's only two of them, so there wasn't too much damage). Wes cautiously peeked around the door frame of the front door, which faces east. Several large trees and branches were downed, especially by where the barn was. The barn was nothing but a pile of wood, and a lot of the pasture fence in the tornado's path was ripped out of the ground. Wes's truck was tipped over and severely damaged, and the roof of the granary was partially torn off. Wes gazed towards the east, and saw a dying funnel cloud over the eastern field. He quickly realized just how lucky he was. If he had argued about going to the basement for another minute, they would've been injured by the storm, and if he didn't have such a firm hold on the railings or the door frame while he was trying to get inside, he would've been literally blown away, and only God knows what would've happened to him then.
Years later, much of the barn is still in an old junk pile in the pasture, and the concrete foundation of the barn is still in the ground. Less than 20 years ago, my uncle Wade planted some new trees were the old trees once were, and repaired a few lean-to's that were built to replace the barn. About 5 years ago, some of the new trees died, so Wade replaced them with pines. A couple of the metal cattle gates that are still used today, were in the tornado, and one of them was bent backwards a bit.
The damaged fence you see was pushed out by an angry bull a few years ago, and the fence leaning over in the pasture has been used as a scratching post by all of the cattle.