I never dreamed slowly
cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly
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.
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 cage 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
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
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
But this was no ordinary squirrel. This
was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel. This was an evil attack
by the 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
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.
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
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
The rpm’s on The Dragon maxed out (I was
not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started
Now again 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 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.
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
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.
Editor's note - If you liked this
story as much as we did you may be interested to know that Dan Meyer
has recently published a book, appropriately called "Life is
a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" which you can purchase from
or other US based book sellers for $16.95 plus shipping. It doesn't
seem to be available in the UK yet but they will ship it for you.