It's kind of quiet in here, so I thought I'd finally get around to the Boarhog Incident of 1999. It's all true; and I hope you enjoy.
While living in Germany, a group of us adults got a babysitter on a Saturday night for our kids and drove into Vilseck to party. We stopped at a few bars, had some drinks and shots, and then set off for the back section of Grafenwohr, its sister post.
Grafenwohr is an Army post that is located in the middle of some of the prettiest country in Germany, whether the Army tests the Apaches overhead or not. It was exactly 10k (6 miles) from our housing area; and I used to run on the roadmarch trail across from the tank trail to post weekly. I got to run mostly on a softly-paved trail that ran alongside the back road to post. There were 2 spots that dipped below the road; and one of them went next to a stream where boarhogs would cross during the day and night.
(Boarhogs can get to well over 400 pounds and can span the entire front of a compact car. They have sharp tusks, are omnivorous, and extremely protective of their young. And, oh yeah, they hate human beings. I've heard more than my share of stories where a soldier has been chased onto the top of a Humvee by a boarhog that has rammed the grill or door of the vehicle, often staying there for hours or until it's chased away. I'm not sure if they are federally protected, however. I had a baby in my car once because it got hit by a truck and managed to get it to a rehab, but that's another story. Did I mention boarhogs smell?)
On this particular night that the 7 of us reached the town of Grafenwohr located right behind the post gate, we found that the street were packed; lots of soldiers were in from the field and were out to have a good time. I ended up hanging out with a friend's younger sister and my husband and some people that we just met. We started out at a biker bar which had TJD bottles all along the top of the wall edging and the best jukebox I've ever seen. Judas Priest from the late seventies, ACDC live hits when Bon still sang, you name it, the jukebox had it.
We played pool, danced, and basically got blotto. I put away a great deal of cheap tequila and red wine that night.
Sometime after midnight, my friend's little sister and I walked over to a karaoke bar next to the biker bar and listened to some of our friends make general asses of themselves, and, of course, drank more tequila. She outweighed me by close to 60 pounds, but I felt the need to keep up with her. We'll label this as "Mistake Number One".
Do not attempt to drink alongside of Amazon chicks, for they will win. Especially if you forgot to eat dinner.
One of the soldiers whom hubby had just met that night walked over to the karaoke bar and started to talk to us. He was a mealy little lieutenant with cokebottle glasses and a very naive disposition. He believed one of our friends who told him that his job in the Army was to be the comissary's official bread squeezer. Yes, he did. I know. Anyway, he sat down with us and started a nice conversation; and everything was going fine when my husband barges in the front door and got in the poor kid's face.
I honestly didn't know what the hell was going on. I thought hubby was joking. He wasn't. He grabbed my arm and dragged me outside and then started telling this little soldier that he was going to kill him or beat the crap out of him or something. It's mostly an alcoholic blur still to this day. The blur ended when hubby head butted me and started pushing me into the middle of the street. I didn't know what to do. There were all these soldiers around and no one would help me. I began to attempt to get to the gate, where we had German Nationals guarding so I could get some help.
I managed to get to the gate; and just when I started to ask for help, my husband threatened me. I froze. The stupid guard just stood there. He wanted nothing to do with my husband and was waiting for me to ask for help. This is "Mistake Number Two".
If you are in a shitheap of trouble and don't know why, it is acceptable to ask for help. Not doing so may cause a boarhog incident.
I got in the gate and took off running. Lucky for me I had on some type of low-heeled, durable, black boot and jeans and a tank top with a black blazer. I was dressed for drunken reconnaisance mess, here. Hubby yelled something about a divorce (mostly because the ass couldn't catch me; I was moving), and I darted into the shadows behind the library, stupidly forgetting the MP station was nearby. This is "Mistake Number Three".
Forgetting there are men with guns who are supposed to help you in the building to your direct left will most certainly result in a boarhog incident.
I got to the back gate where the tank trail and running trail were and took off at a rather fast-paced jog. My watch said it was now 2 AM. I was terrified at this point and pissed; hubby was somewhere behind me on the same road and chasing at what, at this point, I imagined some frenzied pace. I didn't think he'd do anything; but by this point, I was totalled and in jungle mode. I managed to get about 3 miles without being seen by any cars or hearing anything behind me by staying on the trail. I thought it might just be a bad arch support kind of night until I heard my first grunt.
Well, that blew the shit out of the running trail idea.
To my immediate right and coming towards me was a small pack of boarhogs being led by 2 juveniles. The way I know this is that in the moonlight, I could see the beginnings of tusks.
I immediately scrambled onto the road. They stopped short of the pavement, and I took off again. By this point, my brain is telling me that running is not good, but I had no idea what else to do. I had not read up on boarhogs yet. The Boarhog Evasion Manual was not in my library.
Over the next 2 miles, I had to jog on the road and risk diving back into the ditch every time a car came while I knew what was on the other side of it. And, if you're wondering why I avoided the cars, I didn't know what type of person might be on the road at night. It's weird out there.
The strategy seemed to work as long as I kept jogging and, this is so embarrassing, growled every couple of minutes. Oh my God, I must have looked like a fucking idiot. Here I am, tanked, quickly sobering up mind you, but still tanked, jogging in the middle of the night, muddy from ditch-diving, and being chased by boarhogs. It occurred to me as they followed me the entire 2 miles that the Amazon friend I'd left behind in Grafenwohr would have made an excellent ally at this point. I think we're up to "Mistake Number Four".
Don't forget the Amazon woman when you're drunk, running from your trashed husband, and being chased by boarhogs.
By the time I can to the last crossroads, I realized that there would be no more running trail, so the boarhogs wouldn't have any real boundary to feel that they might have to cross to get to me. I had to haul ass like I've never had before over that last half-mile; and those bastards kept in the bushes, chasing me, until we finally came to the top of the road. Finally, after over 3 miles, I was free of the smelly things. Looking back on it, now, I can't imagine that the same group of boarhogs chased me the entire time. It certainly must have been more than one pack and I kept attracting their attention when I would hit the ditch or trail. The whole thing seems ridiculous.
By the time I came to our house, it occurred to me that I had the cab money for my friend. I grabbed her big sister, whose face upon seeing me can only be explained as "what did you do?", and we went off to find her.
When we got back to the housing area, there was hubby staggering over the last hill, a dirty mess, with someone's prize-winning tulips bulbs in his hand. He helped himself to some poor frau's garden as an apology. Oh whatever.
I ended up breaking my foot. I had to get X-rays that week which confirmed that I had indeed broken the metatarsal arch in one of my feet. It was a bruised mess. Damn boots. And, so, we come to "Mistake Number Five".
When the possibility of a boarhog incident arrives, make sure to either have arch supports in your back pocket or wear running shoes.
Looking back on that night, I now realize that I could have asked the guards for help and watched them deal with the incredible asshole hubby had become. I could have also ran to the MP station and gotten a ride home or had a cab called for me. I could also hid out and doubled-back to the bars and picked up Amazon chick. But, I did none of these things. I panicked, ran, ran, and then took a run only to arrive home and vomit on my front porch before finding Amazon's sister. Nice.
I can only imagine this entire night evolved because I had to keep up with someone who towered over me, so maybe it was a sort of arrogant drinking karma deal. I'll never know.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
EDIT I have to edit alot when I'm having a drink. I hate spelling things wrong.
Last edited by daphne
on Wed Nov 02, 2005 4:15 am, edited 1 time in total.
You deserve all the puffery you can get
daph and grip say "bourbony goodness!"