My Most Vivid Image This Year
By Jim Gasperini
Monday. A stalwart few of us struggle to finish cleaning camp in 80-90%
whiteout.
Dust slices the air in thick waves like airborne dunes. We kick at ragged
rows of drifted dust to see what junk might lurk within. Grumpier and
grumpier we get, muttering about the clever campmates who snuck off at
1 a.m. after the burn to beat the traffic. What the hell are we doing
here, anyway?
Suddenly, a thin, bent guy in a wheelchair comes racing out of the swirling
dust. He has the thing cranked up to what must be maximum speed, so fast
it totters back and forth as he zips along, head thrown back and tongue
slightly out, a grin of utter ecstasy on his face. He appears grinning
out of the dust, and a moment later disappears grinning into the dust
again.
We stare after him long after the dust has swallowed him up. We imagine
how unusual it must be for him to be out here in the elements, able to
race his wheelchair as fast as he likes with the wind and dust on his
face.
Grins return to our faces as well. Ah yes, that's what we're doing out
here.
