Imagine a raised 1987 Ford F150 with rusted fenders instead of a svelte white sports car with duel rocket launchers. (Img obtained from: http://blog.wired.com/defense/2008/01/ir-smoke-screen.html)
The previous day’s ride had proven unusually interesting. A symptom of the budding spring season, I surmised. First, a pair of knuckle-dragging rednecks in a raised beater truck rattled within inches and belched black smoke into my face like so much Spy Hunter. Then further on, a family of Wal*Mart cyclists seemed intent on a head-on collision by riding down the wrong side of the road.
Taken in isolation, these events are hardly worth mentioning. Nay, I welcomed the idiosyncrasies to an otherwise uneventful ride. Little did I know, these two occurrences were mere precursors to the next day’s event; an event that would change my life forever.
I plotted a quick 25-mile loop to Thorntown and back. I left my driveway with nary a problem and proceeded to the highway, as I had done many times before. I sped down the shoulder until I was able to turn off on Hazelrigg Road. That fateful Hazelrigg Road. It was the last time I would ride that stretch of pavement in naïvety.
It began with a bark. If you ride enough, you learn to react to this noise instinctively, before your forebrain can decipher it for your conscious. I turned my head in its direction and shifted up two gears. The barking continued. I frantically scanned the roadside for its source. Then I saw it. A tiny brown dog, scrambling toward me. Time slowed as I prepared myself for a chase. The dog seemed to be moving unusually fast for its size. When it started across the pavement, it was not accompanied by the “skitcha skitcha skitcha” that usually accompanies dog paws. It was strangely silent.
When it was within feet of me, I saw it. It was no tiny dog at all, but a squirrel. My life flashed before me as I remembered countless stories told of squirrel collisions more devastating than any run-in with a dog. I recalled accounts of squirrels darting out in the road and getting tangled in the front wheel’s spokes, destroying the bike, and catapulting the rider.
Squirrels were unpredictable. Their trajectory was almost impossible to plot. Dogs were different, they were predictable. Dogs often took a parabolic arch. They would aim for where you were at each moment. As you continued forward, they would curve up to meet you, relying primarily on brute speed to intercept you from behind. Squirrels are different. They tend to pick a straighter line and sprint, damn any obstacles that may appear in their path.
But here I was, faced with a squirrel. I neglected the sprint. I reasoned that, were I to go headfirst over my handlebars, I would be in a much better position to brace myself without my weight shifted forward over the pedals. I had broken a collarbone once before and had no desire to do it again. Exhausting all possible options, I laid the decision in the squirrel’s incapable paws. When he was within inches, we locked eyes. We both knew collision was imminent. But with grim determination, the squirrel sped on. He seemed to be taunting me, “Let’s see who wins this one, human.” But I already knew the answer: he was heading for my rear wheel. I imagine he tried to split the gap between wheels but he seemed to make a crucial error while calculating his speed, my speed, or his path.
I felt my rear wheel jump and skid slightly. I prayed the squirrel wasn’t on his way up in my back wheel’s spokes, soon to become clogged in the seat stays. I looked over my left shoulder and saw his furry brown body go cartwheeling three feet into the air. He made no sound. I conjectured that if the impact hadn’t killed him, the landing soon would. I expected to see his furry brown body twitching indignantly on the ground. It hit with a shuflump. It began to writhe and contort itself.
It found its footing and skittered off into the woods. I breathed a sigh and smiled. We had both averted disaster. As I rotated my head forward, I caught a glimpse of a small dog frozen at the end of a driveway. It had seen the entire thing. After the manic barking that set off that fateful chain of events, it was now speechless.
