Jump to content
The Unknown Ghosts



Recommended Posts



Neighborhood Hazard or Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Any More


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



Animal lovers never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of



Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on

his hind legs and facing my oncoming Gold Wing 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, "Bonsai!" 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



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 Gold Wing can only have one result.




This is what the Gold Wing 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 Gold Wing 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 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



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




Link to comment
Share on other sites

Please sign in to comment

You will be able to leave a comment after signing in

Sign In Now
  • Create New...