This story was sent to me from another group. I am not sure I have ever laughed so hard! I know some of you are motorcycle riders and thought you would enjoy this
Alice
-- 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 car 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 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 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 80 mph 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.
Written by: Daniel Meyer
Alice
-- 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 car 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 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 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 80 mph 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.
Written by: Daniel Meyer
]
