Testing my survival skills

In my dream, I’m running from the law. I have no idea what I’ve done. It has nothing to do with the news of the day. There’s no mask-covered ICE agents. Conservative or Liberal have nothing to do with it. But time is still of the essence.

I run through the house with a duffle bag grabbing everything I can think of in the moment. I have no idea how I got the tip that the police are after me, but I’m on the run. I grab my boots, an extra coat, a blanket, and a few Hostess Ding Dongs. I don’t care what you say, hunger pains are real.

I take my stash and race to my car. I squeal away but there are roadblocks everywhere. The police are onto me. In my dream, I’m forced to ditch my car and head to a state park near me and its hundreds of acres of woods and potential hiding places.

A man on the run

This is the part where I always get stumped: how long would I really last?

I like to think of myself as a resourceful sort. But that’s with normal everyday things. And a good part of that is all thanks to Mr. Google. You need to know the best place to get new brakes for your car? I’m your man. You need to know what’s a good price on new fixtures for your faucet? A quick search and I can tell you.

Hiding out in the woods? I think I’m a resilient, but am I really? I guess this is probably a good time to come clean. I’m no Bear Grylls, the British adventurer know for his wildness survival shows. I’m not even your basic Boy Scout. I skipped the day the Troop Leader gave out Survival Badges. I skipped the day we covered Plants and You too. Yes, I’m a mess.

In truth, my survival skills leave lots to the imagination. You can see that in the list of things I was grabbing. Nowhere in that list was there any mention of matches or a lighter, bottled water, a pocketknife or an ax or even a basic survival kit. Of course, I skipped past a tent, flashlight, nonperishable food, a radio, a shovel, plastic sheeting, duct tape, and a first-aid kit too. D’uh.

Giving up while the getting is good

So yes, as much as I like to think I would survive on the run with nothing but the clothes on my back and the wisdom in my head, I’m pretty sure I know exactly how things would end up. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

A few hours into my ordeal, I would run to the nearest mountain crossroad with my hands up in the air begging whoever stopped to pick me up a hot coffee and to take me to the nearest police station.

I give up, I give up. Just feed me and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.

If the police station has a snack machine full of Ding Dongs or donuts, well then, all the better!

Images by Pexels.