Sasquatch Roadkill Found! Giant Bigfoot Creature Hit By Car At 80 MPH
Night Run in the Cascades
Kent’s Account
Chapter 1: No One Believes Me
Nine years. Nine long years since that evening, and not a single one of my writing buddies believes my account. Hell, I wouldn’t believe myself if someone recounted this tale to me. But I’m sharing it regardless, because what occurred out there in the Cascade Mountains altered everything I believed I understood about what’s concealed in the dense wilderness of Oregon State.
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My name’s Kent, and I’ve been riding for over fifteen years now. I’ve traveled through every state, witnessed all kinds of bizarre incidents on the highway—intoxicated motorists, high-speed pursuits, even a comet display that illuminated the heavens like New Year’s Eve. But nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, prepared me for what I confronted that November evening in 2015.
Chapter 2: The Job
It was a Wednesday when my contact, Tony, called me with an opportunity. Tony’s one of those individuals who’s been in the underground business since cell phones were the size of bricks. Raspy voice, constant stubble, and connections that run deeper than anyone cares to inquire about.
Tony had a special job for me. Off the grid. I’d handled off-the-grid work before—the kind that requires someone who can move fast, travel light, and stay invisible. The kind where you don’t ask too many questions about what you’re carrying or where it came from. This assignment was different.
I needed to get to a remote location in the Cascade Mountains, make a pickup, and deliver it to a contact outside Portland. Tony wouldn’t tell me what I was carrying—said it was better if I didn’t know—but he was paying enough that I didn’t press for details. The customer was offering serious money, cash, one evening’s ride: $25,000. That was more than I made in six months of legitimate work.
My bike payments were overdue, rent was behind, and I had debts with people who weren’t known for their patience. The pickup location was an abandoned logging site about forty miles southeast of Bend. My task was simple transportation. Collect the package, transport it to a contact before daybreak. In and out, smooth and silent.
I should have declined. Should have told Tony to find someone else. But $25,000 was $25,000, and I convinced myself it was just one evening, one ride, and nobody would be harmed.
Chapter 3: Into the Woods
Tony handed me half the compensation upfront in cash and detailed directions to the collection location. The strategy was uncomplicated: depart Portland at 10:00 p.m., ride to the collection location, grab the package, and reach the contact before sunrise.
The route would take me through some of the most isolated areas of the Cascade Mountains, but my bike—a 2014 Kawasaki Ninja 1000 that had never failed me—could handle it. I’d ridden that bike over 80,000 miles without a single major malfunction. Dependable as clockwork.
The journey started normally enough. I-84 east to The Dalles, then south on Highway 97 toward the mountains. Traffic was sparse, just a few late-night travelers and the occasional highway patrol. I kept my speed at the limit, trying to appear like just another rider making an overnight trip.
But as I turned off 97 onto the smaller routes that would take me deeper into the mountains, the terrain began to transform. Towns and communities gave way to thick forest that pressed in on both sides. Ancient ponderosa pines and Douglas firs towered overhead, their branches forming a canopy so dense my headlight barely penetrated the darkness.
Chapter 4: Trouble on the Road
The GPS on my phone started malfunctioning around 11:30 p.m. The signal kept cutting in and out, twice trying to route me down paths that didn’t exist. I had to rely on Tony’s handwritten directions, following a series of twisting roads leading deeper into the wilderness.
2:15 a.m. when I hit whatever was lying across the roadway. I remember the precise time because I was checking my watch, calculating whether I’d make the pickup on schedule. The collision felt like a branch or a medium rock. But on a motorcycle, even small things can be catastrophic.
Within minutes, I could feel the bike handling differently. The rear was sliding in the turns, and I could hear the thumping sound every rider fears—a blown tire.
I pulled over and shut off the engine. Sure enough, the rear tire was destroyed. Whatever I’d struck had torn a gash in the sidewall that no amount of sealant could fix.
That’s when the reality of my situation hit me. I was on a motorcycle in the middle of nowhere with a blown tire and no way to fix it. My cell phone showed no signal. I was completely, utterly isolated.
Chapter 5: The Cabins
I spent the better part of an hour trying to devise alternatives. Maybe I could ride on the rim. No, that would destroy the wheel and probably send me flying. Flag down a passing vehicle? In the four hours I’d been on these back roads, I hadn’t seen a single other vehicle.
That’s when I noticed something in the forest. Deep in the trees, maybe a third of a mile off the road, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a building. Just the edge of a roof visible through the canopy, but clearly constructed—a house or maybe a cabin.
People meant tools, maybe even a phone or at least someone who could help me get back to civilization. I grabbed my backpack and started making my way through the undergrowth. The forest was dense, full of fallen logs and tangles of bracken that caught at my boots. But the promise of assistance kept me moving forward.
It took me thirty minutes to reach what I’d spotted. What I discovered wasn’t what I expected.
Chapter 6: Signs and Shadows
There were four buildings arranged in a rough circle around a central clearing—old logging cabins, but substantial, built to endure. They were completely deserted: no lights, no smoke, no signs of recent habitation. Weathered, forgotten, empty for years.
I called out, explaining my situation. No answer, just the wind and the distant call of an owl. I approached the largest cabin, the front door standing slightly open, creaking in the breeze. My phone’s flashlight revealed a basic but functional interior: stone fireplace, rough furniture, shelves that had once held supplies.
I called out again, stepping inside. Still no response. My light revealed signs of relatively recent occupation—preserved goods on shelves, tools scattered about, furniture not completely covered in dust.
In a workshop, I found hand tools, spare machinery parts, and several unsettling items: chains, heavy padlocks, animal snares big enough for something larger than a deer. Mounted on the walls were photographs—dozens showing the forest from various angles with dates going back years.
But it was the most recent photos that made my blood freeze. Tracks, massive tracks, three times the size of my boot, pressed deep into the mud near a creek. Dated just two days ago.
Chapter 7: Something Approaches
I was examining the photographs when I heard the first sound—a low rumble, almost below human hearing. A vibration coming up through the floorboards and into my bones. At first, I thought it might be a vehicle, but it was too rhythmic, too organic.
Then came the snap of breaking branches outside, moving closer. I turned off my phone’s light and moved to the window, peering into the darkness. The clearing that had seemed peaceful now felt threatening, full of shadows hiding anything.
The rumbling came again, closer. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, but not human. Whatever was making them was large, larger than any animal I knew in these forests.
Through the thin walls, I could hear breathing—deep, measured breaths disturbingly humanlike. At one point, it paused directly outside the window, and I heard a new sound: sniffing, like a hunting dog, but deeper and more resonant.
I held my breath, trying to make myself small and quiet. After what felt like forever, the footsteps moved away, heading toward the other buildings in the clearing.
Chapter 8: The Sasquatch
That’s when I should have run. But curiosity and disbelief kept me frozen. I had to see what was out there.
Moving quietly, I crept to the window and peered out. The clearing was bathed in moonlight. What I saw will haunt me for the rest of my life.
It stood nearly ten feet tall, covered in dark hair that absorbed the moonlight. The body was massive, powerfully muscled, arms nearly to its knees, hands capable of crushing a man’s skull. The face was neither human nor ape: heavy brow ridge, projecting jaw, but intelligent, alert eyes.
This wasn’t a bear or elk. This was a Sasquatch—a real, living Bigfoot, standing not sixty feet from where I was hiding.
It moved with purpose, heading toward a third cabin. I watched as it examined the building, running massive hands along the walls, searching for something. When it reached the door, it stopped, listening. Then it looked directly at my cabin.
Our eyes met through the window. Recognition. It knew I was there. Had probably known since it first approached.
Chapter 9: The Chase
The creature began walking toward my cabin with purposeful strides. I had seconds before it reached the door.
The back of the cabin opened onto the forest. I made a split-second decision. I ran—crashed through the back door and into the darkness, phone’s light swinging wildly as I stumbled over logs and underbrush.
Behind me, I heard the front door being torn apart—not opened, but splintered with a crash. Then came the roar—part human scream, part animal bellow, completely terrifying. The chase was on.
Running through dense forest at night while being pursued by a creature that knows the terrain better than you do is not something I recommend. Every step was a gamble. But the alternative was letting that thing catch me.
My phone’s light died after fifteen minutes, leaving me with only moonlight. The creature didn’t seem to have any trouble navigating. I could hear it gaining ground, footsteps shaking the earth.
I tried to be smart about my route, heading downhill toward where I hoped the road might be. But the Cascade forest is a maze of ravines and dense undergrowth.
Chapter 10: The Crash
At one point, I thought I’d lost it. I stopped to catch my breath behind a massive fallen pine. That’s when I heard the sniffing again—much closer. The creature had been tracking me by scent.
I forced myself to start moving, but I was exhausted. As I stumbled, the pursuit grew more aggressive. The crashing sounds got closer.
When I found myself at the edge of a steep ravine with no way across, I thought it was over. The creature was forty seconds away. That’s when I saw the lights far below—headlights on asphalt.
I half-jumped, half-fell down the slope, grabbing at trees and rocks. I hit the road hard, scraping my knees on the asphalt. But I was alive.
I started running down the center line, hoping for a car. The creature crashed down the slope behind me, struggling with the terrain.
After fifteen minutes, headlights appeared ahead—a car moving fast. I stepped into the road, waving my arms. The driver swerved to avoid hitting me, clipped a tree, spun, and slammed into a ponderosa pine.
Chapter 11: The Impossible Death
The impact was tremendous. The car crumpled, steam pouring from under the hood. I ran toward the wreck, ready to help the driver, but froze at the creature’s roar—much closer now.
In the glow of the headlights, I saw it clearly: ten feet tall, covered in dark brown hair, moving impossibly fast. The creature was focused on the car, investigating the commotion.
It hit the car at full speed, momentum carrying it into the tree with a sickening crunch. The impact shook needles from the branches overhead. Its massive body was pinned between car and tree, thrashing, then still.
The creature was dead—neck bent at an impossible angle, 900 pounds of muscle and bone, felled by its own momentum.
I heard moaning from inside the car. The driver was a young woman, unconscious but breathing. The door was jammed, but I forced it open, checked her vitals. She was hurt but stable.
Chapter 12: The Cover-Up
Panic set in. I needed help, medical assistance for the woman, and I had no idea how to explain what had happened. Who would believe a Bigfoot had chased me and died in a car crash?
I ran down the road, eventually reaching Milfield—a tiny town with a general store, diner, and a sheriff’s office. I reported the accident to Deputy Jenkins, who called for an ambulance.
But we never made it back to the crash. Six miles from town, we encountered a roadblock—two black SUVs, men in dark suits, military-grade equipment. The lead agent told Jenkins there was a federal investigation and the road was closed.
Jenkins protested, but the agent repeated: classified, turn around. The ambulance and fire truck were turned back. Jenkins spent the next hour on the radio, but got no answers.
By sunrise, I was in the diner, drinking coffee and trying to process what had happened. Jenkins finished his report, asking me to clarify my story. I told him it was a bear—he nodded, but didn’t seem convinced.
Chapter 13: Vanished Evidence
The federal agents never came to talk to me. The tow truck was allowed through to retrieve my bike, which had been repaired and moved to Bend. By noon, I was heading toward Portland, no package, and a story I couldn’t tell anyone.
Tony was unconcerned about the loss of the job. When I pressed for details, he became evasive. Some clients prefer to keep things quiet.
I tried to research the area, but found nothing. The land had been owned by shell companies and government entities, ownership changing hands frequently. The cabins didn’t appear on any official maps.
The accident with the injured driver disappeared from records. The state patrol had no record of any crash on Mountain Route 23 that night. According to them, nothing had happened.
But I knew what I’d seen. The woman was real, the crash was real, and the creature—God help me—had been real, too.
Chapter 14: The Pattern
Nine years later, I’m still riding, but I avoid the Cascade Mountains. I’ve told the story to a few people—close friends, family, other riders with their own strange experiences. Nobody believes me. They listen politely, then change the subject.
Some suggest I hallucinated. But I know what I experienced. I know what chased me, and I know what died in that crash. I also know powerful people worked to keep the incident secret.
The question isn’t whether Sasquatch exists. I know it does. The question is why the government is so determined to keep it secret—and how many others have had encounters that were covered up or discredited.
I’ve found a pattern: credible witnesses dismissed, evidence disappearing, agencies claiming no knowledge. Every now and then, I find someone whose story matches mine. Someone who encountered the impossible and found themselves up against forces more powerful than they could understand.
Chapter 15: The Road Goes On
I still ride the highways and back roads of America, but I’m more careful now. I avoid deep forests, especially at night, and never take mysterious jobs from clients I don’t know.
Sometimes, riding through remote areas, I catch a glimpse of something moving in the treeline. Just a shadow, just a suggestion of something large and bipedal. I don’t stop to investigate. I keep riding, hoping it doesn’t decide to follow me home.
When other riders share stories about strange encounters, I listen without judgment. I know the truth most people aren’t ready to accept: we’re not alone out here. There are things living in the wild places of America that science hasn’t cataloged and the government doesn’t want us to know about.
I saw one of them die that night, pinned between a Toyota Corolla and a ponderosa pine. But I know there are others out there, moving through the forests and mountains, staying just out of sight.
Sometimes late at night, with only my headlight for company, I wonder if one of them is watching me pass, remembering the human who witnessed their secret and lived to tell about it.
The road goes on, and so do the mysteries it holds. I’ll keep riding and keep watching for signs of things that officially don’t exist. Because once you’ve seen the impossible, you can never look at the empty spaces on the map the same way again.
That’s my story. Believe it or don’t—I’ve learned not to care. But if you’re ever riding through the deep woods of the Pacific Northwest and see something that shouldn’t exist, remember what I’ve told you. And whatever you do, don’t stop to investigate.
Just keep riding, and hope it doesn’t decide to follow you home.
End of Story
