William
03-18-2008, 06:28 PM
I never dreamed slowly cruising on my bike through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect... I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic.
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 bicycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me (first mistake). I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves.
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Zank with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I was pretty sure the scream was Squirrel for "Bonzai!" or maybe "Die you gravy-sucking heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular... He shot straight up, flew over my handlebars, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my jersey, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light jersey, riding gloves, and bib shorts, 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 orange cross bike, dressed in bib shorts, a jersey, and leather gloves, cruising at 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. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to 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 angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of my throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely 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 on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately I put a healthy bit of acceleration through my legs and into my cranks. A healthy burst of acceleration in a cross bike can have only one result. Torque. This is what the Effin Cross Bike is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The Zank roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The tires screamed. I screamed in ... well... I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and orange cross bike, dressed in bibs, a slightly squirrel torn jersey, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death 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 hit the brakes...my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to slam the rear brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of my tree trunks.
About this time, the squirrel decided I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant doper attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and climbed up on top of my helmet and was now looking down at me. He began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel however.
The RPMs off my legs maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop. Now picture a large man on a huge black and orange cross bike, dressed in bibs, a very raggedly torn jersey, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail hanging off the back of my 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 a new 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 orange cross bike, dressed in bibs, a torn jersey flapping in the breeze, and wearing only 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 into your police car.
I heard screams. This time they weren't mine... I managed to get the big cross bike under 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 of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really...Except for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street aiming a riot gun at his own police car. 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 could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car...but it was all his. I took a deep breath, clipped back in, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.
:bike:
William ;)
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 bicycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me (first mistake). I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves.
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Zank with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I was pretty sure the scream was Squirrel for "Bonzai!" or maybe "Die you gravy-sucking heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular... He shot straight up, flew over my handlebars, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my jersey, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light jersey, riding gloves, and bib shorts, 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 orange cross bike, dressed in bib shorts, a jersey, and leather gloves, cruising at 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. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to 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 angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of my throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely 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 on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately I put a healthy bit of acceleration through my legs and into my cranks. A healthy burst of acceleration in a cross bike can have only one result. Torque. This is what the Effin Cross Bike is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The Zank roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The tires screamed. I screamed in ... well... I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and orange cross bike, dressed in bibs, a slightly squirrel torn jersey, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death 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 hit the brakes...my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to slam the rear brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of my tree trunks.
About this time, the squirrel decided I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant doper attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and climbed up on top of my helmet and was now looking down at me. He began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel however.
The RPMs off my legs maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop. Now picture a large man on a huge black and orange cross bike, dressed in bibs, a very raggedly torn jersey, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail hanging off the back of my 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 a new 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 orange cross bike, dressed in bibs, a torn jersey flapping in the breeze, and wearing only 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 into your police car.
I heard screams. This time they weren't mine... I managed to get the big cross bike under 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 of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really...Except for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street aiming a riot gun at his own police car. 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 could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car...but it was all his. I took a deep breath, clipped back in, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.
:bike:
William ;)