OT:GOLD WING FORUM - That darn squirrel


Active Member
Oct 26, 2002
Portsmouth UK
Sorry peeps - in my research for a motor scooter! - I was cruising the Goldwing forum and found this wee story about a squirrel I have 'CTRL C and V'd' in its entirety.

Its a belter:


I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighbourhood 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 recognises 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 neighbourhoods 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

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

But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-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 face 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 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 neighbourhood. 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
Jed & Cristelle
BAR Region-Switzerland


Active Member
Mar 18, 2003
On Top O't Moors
Mercedes S500L, Mercedes Sprinter 308, BMW Z4, Nissan Navara Rally Raid
Very much like the time many years ago.... I was driving my truck (38 tonne artic) back from Aberystwyth. Lovely summer's day, radio blasting, windows down.... gorgeous. All of a sudden I see something flash past my right shoulder, hit the seat behind me and drop into my trousers down the crack of my ****.
Feeling an incredible pain at the base of my spine all hell breaks loose. Swerving and at the same time locking all the wheels as I slide the truck to a stop I narrowly miss two motorcycle policemen who have to take evasive action up the banking.
They must have had a shock as they turned around to see me, jumping from my cab, with my trousers around my ankles.

As they pull up at the side of me I reach down and pick up the bloody great bumble bee that had almost been the end of the three of us.

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