Neighborhood Hazard (COFFEE ALERT!)

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.


I 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 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 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 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 wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary
****ed-off squirrel.


This was an 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 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 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 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.


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 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.


CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer


My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
preview of the book here.

On Sat, 20 Dec 2003 5:01:10 -0800, Dave Gerecke wrote
(in message ):

Jeez Dave, you should have put a breathing warning on that. I was trying
to breath with tears in my eyes I was laughing so hard.

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.


I 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 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 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 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 wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary
****ed-off squirrel.


This was an 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 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 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 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.


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 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.


CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer


My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
preview of the book here.

Since *you* initiated this biker tail/tale of woe, I will inquire what we in
our ER always ask of biker MVA (motor vehicle accidents): Are you carrying
an "organ donor" card?


"John Biltz" wrote in message
.net...
: On Sat, 20 Dec 2003 5:01:10 -0800, Dave Gerecke wrote
: (in message ):
:
: Jeez Dave, you should have put a breathing warning on that. I was trying
: to breath with tears in my eyes I was laughing so hard.
:
: 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
: motorcycleâ?¦at least if you want to remain among the living. In short,
: the brain needs to keep up with the machine.
:
:
: I 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 awarenessâ?¦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 suspectâ?¦
:
: 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 itâ?"it was that close.
:
:
: I hate to run over animalsâ?¦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 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 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 streetâ?¦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
: ****ed-off squirrel.
:
:
: This was an 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
: inâ?¦wellâ?¦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
: streetâ?¦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 throttleâ?¦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 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 handâ?¦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 workedâ?¦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 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 fingerâ?¦
:
:
: That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol carâ?¦
:
:
: 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.
:
:
: CUAgain,
: Daniel Meyer
:
:
: My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
: March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
: preview of the book here.
:
:

At the very least you should have warned to have tissues ready to mop
away the tears. I laughed until I cried.

Nan

On Sun, 21 Dec 2003 00:01:10 +1100, (Dave
Gerecke) wrote:

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.


I 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 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 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 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 wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary
****ed-off squirrel.


This was an 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 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 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 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.


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 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.


CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer


My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
preview of the book here.

That is, beyond a doubt, the funniest thing I have ever read!

--
Joy (still ROTFLWTIME)

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter (or Summer) Solstice,
Hogmanay and New Year! If that didn't cover it, Season's Greetings!

"Dave Gerecke" wrote in message
.au...
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.


I 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 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 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 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 wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary
****ed-off squirrel.


This was an 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 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 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 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.


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 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.


CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer


My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
preview of the book here.

Dave Gerecke wrote:

Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street)

I hope this guy got a tetanus shot!

Joyce

Well, Dave, I think you've finally topped "Dogs in Elk".

Good to see you back & posting too.

"Yoj" wrote in message
...
That is, beyond a doubt, the funniest thing I have ever read!

--
Joy (still ROTFLWTIME)

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter (or Summer) Solstice,
Hogmanay and New Year! If that didn't cover it, Season's Greetings!

"Dave Gerecke" wrote in message
.au...
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.


I 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 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 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 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 wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary
****ed-off squirrel.


This was an 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 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 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 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.


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 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.


CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer


My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
preview of the book here.

Great story! Nice to see you back, Dave.
Best wishes,
--
Polonca & Soncek

"Dave Gerecke" wrote in message
.au...
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!
snip CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer


My new book, "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle" went on sale
March 5, 2003. If you enjoy my stories, check out my book. There is a
preview of the book here.

Dave Gerecke wrote:

Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street)

Thanks, Dave. That was one of the funniest things I've ever read. It
reminds me of something similar that happened to me, once. And believe
me, once was enough.

I was 19 years old when I bought my first big bike. This was a nearly
new HD 74FLH, that is, a huge touring bike with more horsepower than I
had ever had in my life. It was the same model the police used, with
windshield, saddle bags, a large luggage rack, and more bells and
whistles than most deluxe automobiles.

One feature I especially liked, at first, was the lack of a return
spring on the throttle. That meant that on a long highway ride I didn't
have to keep fighting that spring tension. I thought it was a great idea
until the time I fell asleep at 70 mph going down the highway. But
that's another story.

So anywho I had picked up a friend of mine and was cruising the
drive-ins, trolling for babes. Now that I think about it, my friend
probably would have had to walk home if some pretty girl had taken the bait.

I had been cruising kinda slow, getting used to the big machine, just
grooving. The aforementioned buddy must have gotten bored. While we were
sitting at a red light, he leaned forward and said, "Open it up a bit.
Let's see what she'll do." Okay, that sounded cool. So when the light
changed I twisted the throttle wide open and popped the clutch.

That was a very bad idea.

With my friend's weight on the back, that hawg stood straight up and
took off like a homesick angel. Neal fell off the seat, reflexively
grabbing me around the waist and dragging me back onto the luggage rack.
Not expecting the sudden yank backwards, I lost my grip on the controls.
Neal turned loose and stepped onto the ground. I suddenly found myself
riding a crazed Harley 70 mph through heavy traffic on a Friday night
unable to reach the controls. The machine was standing on its rear wheel
within an inch of falling over backwards. The throttle was stuck wide
open because of that lack of return spring, and the acceleration was so
vigorous that first few seconds, I could reach neither the clutch nor
the throttle. Except for the screams people might have thought I was a
terrible showoff. The only way to steer was with my body weight, but
since the bike was doing such a wheelie, I couldn't see where we were going.

When the beast finally consented to let me have some control back, I
turned around and went back for Neal. The first thing out of his mouth
was, "What did you do that for?"

Cheers,
Dave

"David Yehudah" wrote in message
...


Dave Gerecke wrote:

Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street)

Thanks, Dave. That was one of the funniest things I've ever read. It
reminds me of something similar that happened to me, once. And believe
me, once was enough.

I was 19 years old when I bought my first big bike. This was a nearly
new HD 74FLH, that is, a huge touring bike with more horsepower than I
had ever had in my life. It was the same model the police used, with
windshield, saddle bags, a large luggage rack, and more bells and
whistles than most deluxe automobiles.

One feature I especially liked, at first, was the lack of a return
spring on the throttle. That meant that on a long highway ride I
didn't
have to keep fighting that spring tension. I thought it was a great
idea
until the time I fell asleep at 70 mph going down the highway. But
that's another story.

So anywho I had picked up a friend of mine and was cruising the
drive-ins, trolling for babes. Now that I think about it, my friend
probably would have had to walk home if some pretty girl had taken the
bait.

I had been cruising kinda slow, getting used to the big machine, just
grooving. The aforementioned buddy must have gotten bored. While we
were
sitting at a red light, he leaned forward and said, "Open it up a bit.
Let's see what she'll do." Okay, that sounded cool. So when the light
changed I twisted the throttle wide open and popped the clutch.

That was a very bad idea.

With my friend's weight on the back, that hawg stood straight up and
took off like a homesick angel. Neal fell off the seat, reflexively
grabbing me around the waist and dragging me back onto the luggage
rack.
Not expecting the sudden yank backwards, I lost my grip on the
controls.
Neal turned loose and stepped onto the ground. I suddenly found myself
riding a crazed Harley 70 mph through heavy traffic on a Friday night
unable to reach the controls. The machine was standing on its rear
wheel
within an inch of falling over backwards. The throttle was stuck wide
open because of that lack of return spring, and the acceleration was
so
vigorous that first few seconds, I could reach neither the clutch nor
the throttle. Except for the screams people might have thought I was a
terrible showoff. The only way to steer was with my body weight, but
since the bike was doing such a wheelie, I couldn't see where we were
going.

When the beast finally consented to let me have some control back, I
turned around and went back for Neal. The first thing out of his mouth
was, "What did you do that for?"

Cheers,
Dave

ROTFLOL!

Joy