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 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, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!"

The leap was nothing short of spectacular...

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 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 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.

Great story!

That story really is good !!!

I had a similar incident with a bat while riding a bike...

Did you write that?

Daughter and I ROFLOAO!!!!

She says: I am going to bust a gut!!!!!!!!!!!!

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!! hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha


I think she found it funny. Hmm, maybe we have our youngest poster, 10?
She's not getting her own login tho.

Found it on another forum I post.

Never had a squirrel attack me but bees in a full face helmet happens alot to me.

Wrangler, thank you for sharing that. I haven't laughed that hard in a looooong time!

Yes, very funny.

My biggest problem so far on a bike (animal wise) is the darn groundhogs tempting fate trying to run across the road in front of me. Hope that is as bad as it gets. But this time of year I keep a sharp eye out for deer -- 'specially cuz I drive on lots of backroads -- some of them just dirt and stone thru the middle of a woods.

A buddy of mine had a large owl hit him in the head while riding -- darn near knocked him off the bike. He got to work with a sore neck, a headache, lots of feathers in his helmet, and owl poop all over the back of his leather jacket!

That reminds me of a golf outing I took part in a few years back…

While I am not a golfer by any stretch of the word, I am a beer drinker who enjoys teetering around in golf carts on a golf course and effectively looking the part. Most of my buddies are the same way (yeah, we’re those guys). Anyway, half way to inebriation and at the 11th Hole, we all take our respective turns shanking and hooking the ball into the wooded areas, both left and right of the green. Where the balls go, who knows. The sounds of tree limbs cracking and the minute forest explosions cutting through the immediate silence after banshee-shrieking “FORE” entertain us no end. None of us really know why.

Anyhow, on this particular day and on my buddy Chris’s second shot (dropped at the fringe of the hardwoods, of course), a curious squirrel plants itself, say, 50 feet from the tee…and stares. Almost gunfighter-esque, both Chris and this woodsmurf stare one another down. The more sadistic fellows call for Chris to “take the swing and hit the thing, dude.” Of course, the more rational persons in the set know that this is an impossibility given that, again, we can’t play golf and we suck. So in a pose taken straight out of baseball lore…the immortal Babe calling his shot, Chris points and proceeds to unleash the most violent and devastating wormburner of a golf shot that I have ever seen. Traveling at about Mach 3 and at 10 inches above the clipped grass, the ball connects with the squirrel’s nugget, right between his glassy black beans. None of us can believe it. This guy couldn’t hit a skyscraper with a howitzer, much less brain a bushy-tailed rat with a “called” golf shot. Mouths agape, we all stared at this thing break down into a seizured four point stance, crazily jerk its head from side to side, stand once on its haunches, farted or screamed (none of us agree on this), and then scrambled, A** FIRST, up the nearest dogwood. I don’t even think cats can scratch their way A** first up a tree. I haven’t laughed as hard since. Short of monkeys or primates in general, no animal is funnier than the squirrel. Particularly, the lobotomized squirrel.

True story.

Shortly thereafter, in the clubhouse, we were asked never to come back again.

These are the one's you have to worry about.

OMG this part had me literally LOL!
Thanks for sharing Wrangler, that was great!