Neighborhood Hazard or Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Any More
Author: Daniel Meyer
I never dreamed 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 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 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, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die
you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of
spectacular ... as 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 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 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 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 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.
My bad!
