I was on my way home on the Southwest Bikepath. I’m just crusing along, about half the way home, when all of a sudden this grey/brown blur flashes in front of me. My brain immediately screamed “LITTLE CRITTER!!!”, and I hit the brakes, but the little guy was just too close. I hit him with both wheels. It was just this quick thump, thump, and I was over him. I stopped and turned around. The squirrel kicked a few times, and then was still. I went back to make sure the little guy wasn’t suffering, but he was well and truely dead. I really didn’t think there was much hope; I mean, 250 pounds of me and bike versus 2 pounds of squirrel, not much of a contest. The squirrel was dead, and I felt really bad for the rest of the ride home. Then next day, in nearly the same place, a stupid little chipmunk darted out in front of me and did a little hoochie-cootchie back and forth dance and darted back off the path. I had a bit more time, and was able to screech to a halt before hitting this guy. I’ve been a bit more nervous on my bike rides since this has happened.
I guess I’m kind of impressed. I’m not for the murdering of innocent animals, or even devious, deceitful furry tailed rats, but actually hitting a squirrel with a bike is an accomplishment.
Out of curiosity, were you near the cementary past virginia ter? I had a run in with a nasty little bugger there one day and I would be glad if he got his fuzzy little comeuppance!
Maybe you could call the local traffic department and ask them to install “SLOW RODENTS” signs. They would work as well as “SLOW CHILDREN” signs do on the bigger roads.
The windy two-lane road I take to work every day has various road kill (from deer on down) as a regular sight. Recently, someone mowed down a squirrel to the point that it has been rendered completely flat.
Except for the tail. That is still full and bushy and sticking straight up from the road. Now that it’s rained, that may have flattened it some, but it was a pretty funny thing to come across each morning for the last couple of weeks.
