I needed to run out to a piece of land today to check it out for a client and since it actually reached 65 degrees today, I decided it was warm enough to hop on the bike for a change. I had been waiting for a rise in temp since I've only been on the bike 3 or 4 times in the last few months. It had sprinkled on and off most of the morning so I grabbed my full faced helmet and headed down the road on the ‘04 Harley Softail.

It was a beautiful ride. We're starting to see a little bit of green and the daffodils are in bloom. You can't pay for better therapy. Or so I thought!

On the way home, I took a shortcut through Lebanon on Washington Street - a nice little neighborhood with wide streets 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 wasn't going very fast, probably about 25mph, 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 and I was about to meet another oncoming car.

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 Softail 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 biker scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular...This was a super-squirrel!

He shot straight up, flew over my handlebars, 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. I'm almost sure I saw one taking pictures from the side of the road. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a long sleeved T-shirt, fingerless gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Now, I'm just a little girl, but it takes a lot to intimidate me. But picture a 115 pound gal on a red and chrome Harley, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of her 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 small front 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 can only have one result. Torque.

The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Bike screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in .. well .. I just plain screamed. Man did I scream!

Now picture a 115 pound gal on a red and chrome Harley, 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 her back. The girl 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 bike.

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 Softail maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.

Now picture a 115 pound gal on a red and chrome Harley, 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 Lebanon 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 115 pound gal on a red and chrome Harley, 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 light at Elm St. 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 running for his life, with the K-9 doing his best to take the lead. 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.

Thank goodness this light takes forever to turn green! I think once I got stopped I was almost frozen from fear. I took a deep breath, as I slowly looked back to make sure the squirrel was not about to launch another attack. The cop from the passenger side and dog were running down the street as the one with the shotgun pumped another round into the back seat of the car, screaming like a little girl.

Just as the light turned green, I regained my composure and headed in the direction of home. I have never been so happy to park the bike in the garage. Then it was off to a shower, antibiotic ointment and lots of bandaids.

Note: Although I did get out for a ride today and looked at property, I did not encounter any attack squirrels. It was a beautiful and relaxing ride. This is my version of another persons story.