Disinclined Riding Partner

I have met many engaging and intriguing cyclists this past year and it has been entirely my pleasure. Most, I found, have a very similar sense of humor to my own, which both comforts and concerns me. My Advisory Board suggested to me that my first blog could be about my disinclined riding partner that joined me for a training ride earlier this summer. And, in light of Steve Madden’s “With the Editor—I hate Squirrels” article in the September issue of Bicycling magazine, it would seem apropos…the following is an adaptation of my June 22, 2008 FAB forum (www.clubFAB.org) entry on “Why We Wear Helmets”…

Okay, there are many reasons for wearing a bicycle helmet...but rarely do we consider the helmet’s efficacy in deflecting falling squirrels! Yesterday, two blocks from home, an unexpected passenger joined me for a ride. As I was passing under a 40' elm tree, a squirrel fell onto either my headset or top tube--who knows which... All I know is at one moment I was pedaling along, the next I have a "little friend" hanging on to my bento box for its precious life. The helmet connection, you ask? During the squirrels 'free-fall' out of the tree top, it brushed my helmet before abruptly landing face-to-face with me on my bike. Initially, I thought I had brushed the lower limbs of the tree and was very hesitant to glance up for fear of taking one across the forehead or worse yet, have one catch under my helmet—subsequently separating me from my ride—by the chin strap.

It's amazing how fast one's mind processes the situation (sort of the crash and burn scenario when you can anticipate each moment of eating the asphalt as you ride your bike to the ground). I imagined the squirrel having either a heart attack, perching itself on top of my head or shoulders, or going straight for the carotid artery (the fastest way to take out your chauffeur). Staying perfectly cool, calm and collected (uh-huh), I eyed the flea-bitten critter...the ol' stink-eye (and an erratic 100' ride) must have convinced my furry passenger to bail and take its chances by nearly getting run over by the back wheel. I shrieked like an adolescent girl when it leapt between my leg and bike frame. Never having made such a piercing sound, I started laughing hysterically for the next two blocks. Upon reaching a fairly busy traffic intersection, I braked and attempted to un-clip. But to my uncoordinated dismay, I was laughing so hard that I came to a complete stop and started tipping to the opposite side from which my first foot broke free—of course. Throwing my weight to the freed side, I spared myself the humiliation of many a rookie rider. Still laughing, I dismounted and stood bent over my ride, as tears filled my shades. The neighbors...well let's say they are now convinced of my mental infirmity. After regaining my composure and ranking this experience as a 9.5 on the Weird-S@#*-O-Meter, I continued on my way.

On completion of the ride, I downloaded and reviewed data from my bike computer. My heart rate spiked at 202 bpm (140 % of max HR)...I never go above 165 bpm on the steepest of slopes. Interestingly enough, the spike was two blocks from home on level ground--go figure.

Protect yourself--always wear a helmet. In all seriousness, I could have just the same dumped the bike and had a fairly serious accident. It's not always the expected roadsters, rocks, rubbish, roots or ruts...sometimes it's rodents!

If you haven't watched Brad Dumke's "A Cycling Statistic" video on the FAB website (www.clubfab.org/videos.php), do so now...it's convincing--even though it doesn't have any squirrels.

Okay...okay...okay...some of my friends and a few Animal Rights Activists claim my disenfranchised 'little friend'--Rocky J. Squirrel--didn't deserve the ol'-stink eye, or for that matter, the supra-sonic shriek that deafened dogs for blocks. The hysterical laughter it deserved...maybe.

The day following this rodential escapade, Rocket (a moniker for my spouse with her new bike that moves at 12 mph without pedaling) and I went for a theme ride, Let's Teach the Husband a Lesson on the Open Road Ride. Somewhere between “Let’s go for a leisurely ride.” and “Eat my dust—Old Man!”-- Rocket blazes past me on the open road north of J & L and leaves me to defend myself amongst the squirrels' friends, the gophers—you know they talk amongst themselves… Don't let them fool you; they really are 'thirteen-line ground SQUIRRELS!'