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I know this has been posted here a few times. Does anyone know the author? I believe he has an entire book. here's the story:

I 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...
as 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 NAZI 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.
 

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Yeppers, it's Daniel Meyer. Here's his web site with other stories. http://lifeisaroad.com/

He's working on another book about his adventures riding. You can find him on the Big Bike Riders board on occasion.



Tejas
 

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Tejas_Ranger said:
Yeppers, it's Daniel Meyer. Here's his web site with other stories. http://lifeisaroad.com/

He's working on another book about his adventures riding. You can find him on the Big Bike Riders board on occasion.



Tejas
And, he's a Valk rider that writes for the Dallas Morning News.
 
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