[lfjokes] Squirrels and Motorbikes

[Adam Shand]

Via: Erica <erica at spack.org>
From: http://cuagain.manilasites.com/stories/storyReader$287

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 
pissed-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 70mph 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 affect 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 affect 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. I think he was shooting me the finger…

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.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer