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Jute of the Yukon
In a recent thread entitled "Weather mistakes all-seasons cyclist for punchbag",
Andre Jute wrote the following So much for being a tough old all-weather show-off...Reminds me of the cub-reporter from Juneau who asked me, "Now that you've completed a 600 mile training run, sir, and celebrated by shooting up the instructors for three days, can we look forward to you entering the Iditarod as a strong competitor?" I looked the sweet young thing straight in the eye and said, "Do I look stupid?" Er... probably, yes! Andre "Duh" Jute Bring back global warming! Many on RBT will not be familiar with Andre's adventures in Alaska. Presented below for your reading pleasure is some of the story in his own words,originally at http://groups.google.com/group/rec.a...2andre+jute%22 It has the usual ring of quiet modesty and unvarnished veracity PH "................................................. .................................................i n my motor and powerboat racing days I did have a few out of body experiences on various stretchers and operating tables. But they were all of the trivial floating above table looking down on myself kind; no action, no result, no exterior influence, just a memory. Two, of marginally more interest, happened on the Iditarod trail in Alaska. While I was scouting it prior to the run my pilot had to put the plane down on a large shard of ice floating in a river and I got so cold (the only heating was the pan of oil we burned under the engine to be able to take off again after he fixed whatever was wrong) that I clocked out. I saw a Muslim's paradise peopled by women I had long since forgotten (not a guilt reflex as I pride myself on being kindly remembered by women). My editor later cut that from my book Iditarod as too fanciful. A mate of mine who also was frozen unconscious when he fell off my ship in the Southern Ocean in the Cape Town to Rio race, and we took some time sailing Rowlandson figures of eight to find him (I didn't dare not bring his body home; his mother knew my mother and I'd never hear the end of it), didn't see anything, though we hoped to hear something interesting as he was a notorious womanizer. On the other occasion I had an out of body experience, some guys who were supposed to be training me, for a practical joke sent me to fetch the post only 75 miles away but "forgot" to pack food for the huskies and "lost" my compass. ****ing huskies wanted to eat me, ****ing elk wanted to stomp me and got really nasty after I failed to kill it with my first shot (you've never met a shot as bad as me; I've been in guerilla wars where the commander refused to let me carry firearms), finally, with a wolf's fangs only inches from my throat, and me wondering if anyone would believe a prayer from me, I saw myself on the snow with my family, including a favourite but dead grandmother, standing around me. With the last of my strength I reached my knife and ripped out that wolf's stomach ("for not using a stronger mouthwash" I said later) and rolled against the sled before the rest of the pack could get on me; I still have a toothmark on my wrist but not from a wolf, from a goddamn huskie. I didn't think this was funny. When I finally got back to the training camp, in a sorry state and very ****ed off, as you can imagine, I sat on the berm and shot out all the windows, and their radio through a window, then shot at those clowns whenever they tried to go take ****. When the lady administrator of Alaska -- they don't or at least didn't then have a governor, or if they did I never heard it mentioned; the lady seemed to be in charge of everything -- came to see how I was going, these jokers were kneedeep in **** and frozen **** (I put a few bullets into their heating boiler as well) and I was living comfortably in a tent with a cook and a valet and a huge fire and all their food ("I ate their lunch!") because the Eskimo servants took one look at how badly I shot and decided not to become collateral damage for so little pay; even the huskies (except those who survived our brush with the wolves, who preferred Wendigo the evil forest spirit to me) decided to come live with me. The gratuities I gave the Eskimo before I was hauled to Juneau to be dressed down for shooting up mushers temporarily on the government payroll amounted to a year's salary for each of them; the government was exploiting them. I used that to escape punishment, glancing often at my newly-arrived camera team in their van outside the window and smiling gently while I hinted that the charming publicist could as easily grow a social conscience and expose them as exploiters of indigenous peoples as promote their major tourist attraction. " |
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Jute of the Yukon
Peter Howard wrote:
In a recent thread entitled "Weather mistakes all-seasons cyclist for punchbag", Andre Jute wrote the following So much for being a tough old all-weather show-off...Reminds me of the cub-reporter from Juneau who asked me, "Now that you've completed a 600 mile training run, sir, and celebrated by shooting up the instructors for three days, can we look forward to you entering the Iditarod as a strong competitor?" I looked the sweet young thing straight in the eye and said, "Do I look stupid?" Er... probably, yes! Andre "Duh" Jute Bring back global warming! Many on RBT will not be familiar with Andre's adventures in Alaska. Presented below for your reading pleasure is some of the story in his own words,originally at http://groups.google.com/group/rec.a...2andre+jute%22 It has the usual ring of quiet modesty and unvarnished veracity Mr. Jute must be the most exceptional man to have ever lived!!!!!!!!!!! -- Tom Sherman - 42.435731,-83.985007 LOCAL CACTUS EATS CYCLIST - datakoll |
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