Date: Tue, 23 Dec 2003 12:37:32 -0600

"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.
While waiting for my next flight duty, I had been banging around the
outer 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 still 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 usually 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 right over the handlebars
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 me, 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 a purely 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 it is a female attack
squirrel of death), and she came around my neck and got IN my full-face
helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and she 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 her tail
again, pulled her out of my helmet, and slung her 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 by the way, to get my left glove
back, which must have been laying back on the road somewhere. 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 crab-walking 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, as I turned my head to look back, 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
her little fist at me. I think she was shooting me the finger! That is
one
dangerous squirrel. And now she has a patrol car!
I took a deep breath, hit 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.