A Squirrel Story
Posted: April 23rd, 2004, 1:57 pm
> A SQUIRRELLY BIKER STORY
>
> 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 side 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 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 (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
>
> 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 side 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 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 (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