Guest Post by my friend Ryan
There are many hazards to be weary of or at least incidences that
are probable in city riding. I’ve
experienced most of them, but every once in a while something new blindsides
you. After reading my encounter, you may
well be wishing it would happen to you.
It was late last November on a routine yet pleasurable ride
through Frink Park on Lake Washington Blvd. through the upper
reaches of Leschi Neighborhood. I’m
headed south and homebound after work, making my way to Beacon
Hill, thinking about dinner and trying to forget about the work
day as best I can while cranking through the dusk.
This is a section of Lake
Washington Blvd., diverged from the shore, where
you may see a car or two over a miles distance.
It’s what you wish the rest of the Blvd. were. It is heavily canopied belt of forest, mostly
holding it’s own against invasive intruders.
The stretch of my encounter has much intrigue on it’s own, inhabited by
an old bridge with adornment and water flowing down at a bend in the contour
line with very little city light penetrating.
Much as the beloved Interlaken
Park, it is looked
forward to.
As it is fall, the hazards are increased beyond the usual pothole
ridden pavement. Tree debris and puddles
must be considered. A line must be chosen
and you must take a relaxed stance on the bike to absorb the inevitable jolts
of that line. So I finesse as I am able and ready for the smooth negative grade
ahead. The road begins to straighten out
and a street light begins to light the way, welcoming the rider out of the
woods.
But then, through this moment of relaxed anticipation of clear
road, I’m struck by what from all other experience, feels like a low hanging
branch against my helmet. No big deal I
think in a half seconds time... except that I’m more or less in the middle of
the road, with no wind, and foliage well out of reach... and the branch has
struck me in the back of the
head. 1, 2 and 3 seconds tick by in my
confused noggin before I start to doubt my dismissal of the incident and
respect for my curiosity allows me to turn my head back toward the
darkness. Now I’m not expecting to see
anything or anyone, which is usually the case here. But what barely materializes in my credible
night vision is the full span of a ghostly grey owl, drafting my head by no
more than 6 feet of distance. Big round
head with wings gracefully extended on either side of its bulk.
It doesn’t take me long to instinctively start to pedal my low
geared single speed with greater cadence, until I feel i’ve outpaced the
predator. After looking back to confirm
and seeing clean darkness, I break out into a mix of laughter and shouting in
glee to myself. A grin remains for the
rest of my commute.
Woodland Creature Strikes again:
Not a couple weeks later, I’m taking the compost out to the worm
bin in the dark gutter of our back yard.
The bin resides under a small flat roofed open shelter overhung with
shedding maple branches. As I’m bent
over to close the bin, I get a weighted thud on my right shoulder blade. It’s not the knock of a perpetrator looking
to put me on the ground. Though no less
shocking, I let out a sort of yelp and look around for evidence of the impact. As before, I have a moment to reflect and
settle on the theory that a soft body has landed upon me... no claws, no
squeak. I’d swear it was a legless,
headless, chubby woodland creature. Just
then, it scurries off through the leaves, unidentified.
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