I was hiking alone in the North Country when my bootlace broke, and I went tumbling down a ravine, breaking my leg in three places.
With only half-a-Twinkie, some Mentos and half a liter of retsina, I knew that my chances were slim.
I managed to carve a "Help" message in a nearby downed treetrunk using the zipper from my backpack, but I truly felt that all was lost.
Suddenly, out of a clear blue sky, a hang-glider approached!
Desperate, I used the last ounce of my energy to wave shoot off the last flare from the gun, which, of course, hit the hang glider, causing it to burst into flames and crash on the other side of the ridge.
It was at this point that I finally gave up hope.
I drifted in and out of consciousness for a few hours when Tarvaris Jackson came crashing out of the bush - a football under one arm and a portable stretcher under the other.
He quickly pulled the laces from the football out with his teeth and used a nearby sapling to fashion a splint for my busted-up leg.
With great effort, he managed to lift me into the sling and drag me back up the hillside to the road at the top.
Within minutes, a car came tearing by doing about 152MPH and weaving from side-to-side.
Tarvaris flagged down the driver - and it was Koren Robinson!
I was gingerly tied to the luggage rack on the top, next to a newly slain 12-point buck and Koren broke most land-speed records to get me to the hospital.
I never had a chance to thank Tarvaris - but I know that somehow he knows I am grateful.