Those of you who are familiar with the Monty Python sketch, will recall that during the competition of Upperclass Twit of the Year, one of the tasks was run over a dummy but one of the twits manages to run over himself. And although it seems an impossible task, except in the fertile minds of Monty Python, I was to discover that if one gets drunk enough, and attempts to flee on a snowmobile anything is possible.
It was early evening on a spring day in La Ronge when we were called to a domestic, in a corner of one of the communities that was tucked out of the way. Not just any domestic but one that involved a knife being waved about, and threats that were made. Alcohol was definitely a factor.
There seems to an unwritten rule that weapons calls are never to be easy, and this one was complicated by the fact that the house was set well back in the bush, accessible only on foot. As we exited the truck we heard a snowmobile putting away through a back trail, the unmistakable sound of a Yamaha Bravo.
We hurried down the path and without pause entered the house, as always fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. And although the house was in disarray there was no blood, the woman screamed at us when we entered that her husband had just fled on his Bravo, into the bush behind their house.
I could still hear the snowmobile running, not too far back in the bush and ran down the trail, hoping to catch up before it hurried farther. There, about fifty metres in was the snowmobile in the middle of the trail, still running but with no one in sight. I quickly scanned the forest, expecting to see the culprit making his way on foot but saw no one. As I began to look for tracks I heard a noise from the front of the machine and went around it.
There, lying on his back, pinned under the snowmobile, was the culprit, extremely drunk, and unable to move. In his alcohol induced fog he had managed to hang the snowmobile up on a tree root that was on the trail. A sober person would have been able to easily drive the machine off the offending root, but our man went to the front of the machine, grabbed the bumper/hand grips and give a mighty pull to free his Bravo. He fell as he pulled the machine towards him, and its momentum and a little bit of a fast idle kept the machine going, up over his body, pinning his legs under the track and his chest under the engine.
He had, indeed, run over himself.