nar·ra·tive,noun: pronounced nar-uh-tiv

A story; an account of a sequence of events, whether fictional or non-fictional. To be distinguished from writing that is strictly descriptive, expository (like an essay), or dramatic (i.e., like a play). A narrative may include some description and analysis, but it must tell a story. It has a narrator who addresses someone (usually us, the readers).

I started the narrative off with a definition about what a narrative could be defined as, but it does not fully encompass as to what I think 'Papa Trope' is desiring. Therefore, I think I will just tell the story exactly how it happened. The story takes place in Boulder, Colorado around Mid January 2005.

It all began one blizzard night when at a whim I decided I wanted to go rock crawling in my lifted Jeep alone about 25 miles outside of town. I hadn't really put much thought into whether it was a smart idea or not, but more or less that it seemed like a good idea and what did I have to lose other than my life. At the time, I didn't really care what happened to me because I was living in poverty and failing all my courses nearly 2000 miles from any family member or friend. The inclination that anybody actually cared about what happened to me or even if someone did...the odds of someone finding me for a couple of days was grim. So I said what the hell, why not! That night I prepped all of my snow gear that I had at the time, which wasn't very much until I met my now best friend Tyler (who taught me everything about snow gear). The gear for the trip consisted of mainly some base layers of polyester clothing, a very low quality mountaineering coat and some -50 degree Fahrenheit boots. I packed all of my spare Jeep parts such as drive shafts, tools and all other things to work on my Jeep if I had to, but needless to say I didn't end up packing enough…

After all things had been packed, I was on my way out to my Jeep to prep for a very adventurous night. On the precarious trip alone out to the trail I pondered as to what exactly I was getting myself into, but honestly to this day, I didn't give a shit what happened. All I cared about was the fact that I was doing things that I never thought I would have done if I hadn't up and left home to create a life for myself the best I could. When I finally arrived at the trailhead to Lefthand Canyon trail (which isn't a trail, but a creek bed filled with enormous boulders and snow). As a routine, I would air down my enormous tires to around 11 pounds per square inch and lock up all my hubs for 4x4 engagement. Once things were all set I went ahead and mushed on into the jaws of the trailhead. At this point, there are several obstacles that you have to traverse before you get to the end of trail, but how to describe it in detail is a difficult task. All I can say is picture a boulder field and smash them into an enclosed area about 12 feet wide surrounded by an embankment of snow and trees. After I had successfully completed most of the trail or to at least the best I could do during a midnight blizzard run in an already dangerous trail...I decided to head out the top of the trail and back down for the night. That's where all things turned very bad...

You know the feeling you get when you complete something that you know you couldn't have done otherwise and you get that euphoric feeling.....well I was enjoying that feeling all the way up until the end when my Jeep decided its electric fuel pump decided not to pump fuel anymore. This is kind of a problem when you drive a vehicle that is powered by a V8 and a 650 Holley Carburetor that drinks gas like there is an endless supply. At this point the engine started choking out and I frankly said, "Shit! What am I going to do now?" Well....the first thing I did was notify the only people I knew...my parents that I was trapped on some mountain about 25 miles outside town and over 2000 miles from them. Lets just say they didn't take this too well... After my cell phone proceeded to die because it was too cold for it to operate, I began the search for the problem. I could not locate the problem other than dismantling the fuel pump in the middle of the dark, but after much deliberation on the fuel pump and a differential diagnosis of possible problems I decided to call it a night and try to find a way back to my dorm. I began the long trek down the mountain to a local campground that happened to be occupied by a family. Thank god these people were friendly enough to call my now current friends Chris and Ty, who in turn called the police and the search for me was initiated. Unfortunately, no one was able to locate me...so I trekked down to the main trailhead where it intersects with the main road that led into the mountains and waited inside my piece of shit emergency blanket (they don't work...trust me). After about 4 hours of lying on the ground and shivering to death a truck rolled by and the young man and woman inside told me they'd give me a ride back to town after they got done what it is they were there to do.... After about an hour or so, they came back down and gave me a lift back to Boulder.

Be nice because honestly I think this story blow..

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