|
Demonic Squirrel Riding Story
by Daniel Meyer
from
his newest book,
"Life is a Road, Get on it and Ride"
http://lifeisaroad.com/
Neighborhood Hazard
(or: Why the Cops Won’t Patrol Brice Street)
I never dreamed slowly cruising
through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!
Studies have shown that
motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more
sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport.
The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened
to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor
situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.
Occasionally, as a rider I have caught
myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight
training, my instructors called this being “behind the power curve”. It is a
mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the
situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a
meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a
chance to catch up.
Good, accurate, and timely
decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle…at least if you want to
remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the
machine.
I had been banging around the
roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very
heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I
commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a
cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a
big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can
accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them
before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too
late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was
not even aware was there!
Two bad decisions and insufficient
situational awareness…all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time
to get off the freeway.
I hit the next exit, and as I was
in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential
neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets
I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured
some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to
relax, think, and regain that “edge” so frequently required when riding.
Little did I suspect…
As I passed an oncoming car, a
brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately
in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across
the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but
there was no time to brake or avoid it—it was that close.
I hate to run over animals…and I
really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I
barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers,
never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel
flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming
Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady
eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and
leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, “Banzai!” or maybe, “Die
you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!” as the leap was spectacular and he flew
over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.
Instantly he set upon me. If I did
not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies
along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a
frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding
gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little
tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge
black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves
puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street…and in the fight of his
life with a squirrel. And losing.
I grabbed for him with my left
hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil
rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I
recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The
matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel
could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his
business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
But this was no ordinary squirrel.
This was not even an ordinary ticked-off squirrel.
This was an evil attack squirrel
of death!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger
with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around
and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back
and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He
also managed to take my left glove with him!
The situation was not improved.
Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach
him.
I was startled to say the least.
The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle
hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy
twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the
throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.
Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and
she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared as the front
wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in…well…I just
plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge
black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt,
and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70 mph and rapidly accelerating
down a quiet residential street…on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on
his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was
forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of
the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I
really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house, or parked car.
Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle…my brain was just
simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little
effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel
decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious
battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around
my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed
partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed
tone and intensity. It seemed to have little effect on the squirrel however.
The rpm’s on The Dragon
maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front
end started to drop.
Now picture the large man on the
huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt,
and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel,
with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face
helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand…I
managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to
the left as hard as I could. This time it worked…sort-of. Spectacularly
sort-of, so to speak.
Picture the scene. You are a cop.
You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked
with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge
black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn
t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at
probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with
all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police
car.
I heard screams. They weren't
mine...
I managed to get the big
motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground.
I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at
the stop sign at a busy cross street.
I would have returned to fess up
(and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things.
First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about
me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house
they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from
the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot
shotgun on the police cruiser.
So the cops were not interested in
me. They often insist to “let the professionals handle it” anyway. That was
one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the
back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and
upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me.
That is one dangerous squirrel. And
now he has a patrol car…
I took a deep breath, turned on my
turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.
As for my easy and slow drive
home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or
the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I’ll take my chances with the
freeway. Every time.
And I’ll buy myself a new pair of
gloves.
|