Last week I did a tandem skydive with the Golden Knights, the US Army elite parachute team. If you haven't heard of them, imagine if the Blue Angels were skydivers instead of jet pilots. The accuracy competitions they engage in involve placing a pinhead-sized sensor on a bullseye which is only 3 cm in diameter. You could hardly pick a better group of jumpers in the whole world. It was my second time, and I was reminded of what a unique experience jumping out of a plane is--it's quite interesting how suddenly it shifts from a most extreme and chaotic experience to one of peace and tranquility (as one transitions from free fall to decelerated descent). It rocked.
On the way back from Fort Bragg, I came upon a rather nasty accident. On I-20 westbound near Columbia, I saw that a charter bus full of passengers had smashed into a tractor trailer and that both vehicles were burning. The door near the front of the bus where people might have gotten off was enmeshed in the flaming wreckage, so people were trying to get out of the windows instead. I was approximately the sixth car to happen upon the crash. Seeing the arms waving for help from the windows, I felt compelled to assist, as did perhaps a dozen other people at the scene. Unfortunately there was an unusually high percentage of elderly and/or handicapped people on board, so lowering these people, most of whom were injured or in severe shock, proved rather difficult. We got everybody off as quickly as possible; I was personally concerned that an explosion might occur and so I urged the understandably freaked-out passengers to move quickly.
I helped escort a very old man away from the crash and laid him down in the median. It wasn't until coming back to check on him later that I noticed his right index finger had been torn off near its base and was dripping the brightest blood I've seen into the lush green grass. It was actually a most striking image and had I less shame, I'd have taken a picture of that mangled old hand. Instead, I satisfied myself with taking photos of the wreck at a distance once everybody was taken care of and the firemen had arrived. It was really really fucked up. I don't know if anybody died. As soon as I heard a few people say that everybody was off the bus, I just left and went back to my car because I was afraid that the vehicles would blow up and also I just really needed to sit down for a second. At any rate, I thought I might relate that story as it is kind of interesting. Maybe I'll put some photos up later.
Tonight will be my first night at my new apartment in Atlanta. I've resided primarily in Athens since Fall of 96, and will miss the simplicity and relative peace that it offers for those who know where to look. But the time for change is now, so away I go.
It's time to get back to packing and cleaning, I suppose. Fuck fuck motherfuckin fuckola I hate moving. Anyways, ya'll take it easy.
On the way back from Fort Bragg, I came upon a rather nasty accident. On I-20 westbound near Columbia, I saw that a charter bus full of passengers had smashed into a tractor trailer and that both vehicles were burning. The door near the front of the bus where people might have gotten off was enmeshed in the flaming wreckage, so people were trying to get out of the windows instead. I was approximately the sixth car to happen upon the crash. Seeing the arms waving for help from the windows, I felt compelled to assist, as did perhaps a dozen other people at the scene. Unfortunately there was an unusually high percentage of elderly and/or handicapped people on board, so lowering these people, most of whom were injured or in severe shock, proved rather difficult. We got everybody off as quickly as possible; I was personally concerned that an explosion might occur and so I urged the understandably freaked-out passengers to move quickly.
I helped escort a very old man away from the crash and laid him down in the median. It wasn't until coming back to check on him later that I noticed his right index finger had been torn off near its base and was dripping the brightest blood I've seen into the lush green grass. It was actually a most striking image and had I less shame, I'd have taken a picture of that mangled old hand. Instead, I satisfied myself with taking photos of the wreck at a distance once everybody was taken care of and the firemen had arrived. It was really really fucked up. I don't know if anybody died. As soon as I heard a few people say that everybody was off the bus, I just left and went back to my car because I was afraid that the vehicles would blow up and also I just really needed to sit down for a second. At any rate, I thought I might relate that story as it is kind of interesting. Maybe I'll put some photos up later.
Tonight will be my first night at my new apartment in Atlanta. I've resided primarily in Athens since Fall of 96, and will miss the simplicity and relative peace that it offers for those who know where to look. But the time for change is now, so away I go.
It's time to get back to packing and cleaning, I suppose. Fuck fuck motherfuckin fuckola I hate moving. Anyways, ya'll take it easy.
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Good times.