THE SQUIRREL OF DEATH
I never dreamed that slowly cruising
on my motorcycle 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 it 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,
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 Valkyrie with steadfast
resolve in his beady little 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!" The leap was nothing short
of spectacular...
He shot straight up, flew over my
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 20 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 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 at maybe 25 mph 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
the throw, swung around and
with a resounding thump and
an amazing impact, he landed
squarely on my BACK and resumed
his rather antisocial 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 and 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, wearing
only one leather glove, and
roaring at maybe 50 mph 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 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 was an evil mutant
NAZI attack squirrel of death),
and he came around my neck
and got INSIDE my full-face
helmet with me.
As the faceplate closed
part way, he began hissing
in my face. I am quite sure
my screaming changed
intensity. It had little
effect on the squirrel,
however. The RPMs on the
Dragon 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 chrome
cruiser, dressed in jeans,
a very raggedly torn
T-shirt, wearing only one
leather glove, roaring at
probably 80 mph, still on
one wheel, with a large
puffy squirrel's tail
sticking out of the 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 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 chrome
cruiser, dressed in jeans,
a torn T-shirt flapping
in the breeze, and
wearing only one leather
glove, moving at probably
80 mph 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
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 car 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 shotgun at
his own police car. So,
the cops were not interested
in me. They often insist
on "letting 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,
turned on my turn-signal,
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.
