Subject: A Long Mammal Tail
Date: Feb 12 15:15:53 2004
From: Lydia Bishop - lydia at interiorcosmetics.com




Hi Tweeties!



What sort of encounters with other species have we had in our birding
adventures? Here's a tale of a man, a motorcycle and a squirrel.



What about our encounters with other species when we've been out birding or
out and about in the woods or on the beach?



I'm not sure how much of this is true and how much is urban legend, as I
received it from another list populated by folks with crazy senses of humor.



Enjoy!

Lydia

____________________



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!" because 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.









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