HARLEY VS SQUIRREL

[DeWitt]

I never dreamed that slowly cruising on my Harley
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 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 Harley 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 bars, 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 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 purple and chrome
harley, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and 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 Harley can only have one result.

TORQUE.

This is what the Harley 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 Harley screamed in ecstasy. I screamed
in...well, I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge Purple 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 RPM's on
the Hog 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 Purple 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 Purple 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 to "let 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

[bowie boy]

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