Jon K.
~SPONSOR~
- Mar 26, 2001
- 1,354
- 4
I ran across this disertation this morning (I had written it for the SERA newsletter) and thought some of you might enjoy it. I must have been feeling literate or something that day. I promise every word is true!!
Cows
When we first went over to Fort Polk, in western Louisiana; I had to accustom myself to the unique hazards of the new area. Having had years of experience in Chipola and Enon; I was well equipped to deal with armed citizenry, the occasional yellow jacket nest, and local law enforcement.
Over at Fort Polk; there are different hazards that must be learned and prepared for. Probably the most serious danger is the high speeds that are attainable in the long-leaf pine trees. I had a couple of trips over the bars at warp speeds, but could mostly blame myself for my inattentiveness.
From time to time we would venture over into the “intensive use” area and had to be on the lookout for unexploded ammunition, razor wire, and “tow” wire. Tow wire comes from tow missiles. Evil stuff, tow wire, and virtually invisible. Funny thing about razor wire; after a wad of it weathers for a couple of years, it looks exactly like a briar patch in winter. The difference becomes quite evident when the briar patch comes alive, reaches out, grabs your tire, and wraps itself inextricably into your wheel. We learned to carry wire cutters.
Funnier thing about bombs; they look more like Michelob bottles than anything else. We were riding through a particular section for a couple of years with no worries, when the Forestry Service decided it was time to burn the area. With the grass cleared; it became evident that we had been riding through literally hundreds of bombs! Hopefully they were not “live”, but I took no chances, and painted them orange until I ran out of paint.
But the scariest hazard that I ran across had nothing to do with bombs, wire, or warp speeds. It was bovine in nature, and completely unexpected. Roger Bailey, Chad Tate, and I were working over at the end of Iron Bridge Road. I had fell behind a bit, and was happily poking along, stapling up arrows, enjoying the beautiful day, the blue birds, and bunny rabbits.
Oh look! What’s that up ahead? It’s a herd of cows! Over on the right side of the trail, there are mamma cows, baby cows, adolescent cows, all looking back at me with a sort of bored expression. They commanded my full attention, though, as these did not appear to be the warm, soft, fuzzy sort of cows found in ice-cream commercials. They looked more like something you would find in a John Wayne movie. Still, I did not appear to interest them very much, they being herbivores and all. Had I been a bit less enthralled by the beautiful day, and the rather bucolic scene; perhaps I would have noticed a missing piece of the puzzle. Where is the daddy cow?
I had moved past the herd, and was lending my attention more to the task at hand, when I heard the blood-curdling, guttural, primal bellow!! Words can-not describe it; it could have easily been a T-rex. As I frantically looked over to my left, and out of no-where; there came the enraged bull. He had completely flipped out, his eyes were literally bulging from their sockets, he had various disgusting fluids slinging out of his nose and mouth, he was maybe 20 feet away and he was coming fast. I don’t know what set him off, perhaps he was having a bad day, though there was no mistaking his intent. He wanted me dead, right now, and he was going to see to it personally! I was literally staring death in the face!
Thankfully; I had the little XR200 already running, in gear, and with the clutch pulled in, so I was able to make a fast getaway. Still, it was a close call. I couldn’t help but look back as I was pulling away, and that some-beach was right there, clawing the earth, with his head low, and reaching for the rear of the motorcycle. He missed by inches, and by that time I was into second gear and he had missed his opportunity. Fifteen years later, and I still shudder when I think of how that might have turned out if I had been just a bit slower, or if he had not bellowed as he did to tip me off.
I have raced motorcycles for over thirty years, and I believe that was the closest I have ever come to meeting my maker. A freakin’ cow! Maybe that’s why I like hamburgers so much.
Jonny
Cows
When we first went over to Fort Polk, in western Louisiana; I had to accustom myself to the unique hazards of the new area. Having had years of experience in Chipola and Enon; I was well equipped to deal with armed citizenry, the occasional yellow jacket nest, and local law enforcement.
Over at Fort Polk; there are different hazards that must be learned and prepared for. Probably the most serious danger is the high speeds that are attainable in the long-leaf pine trees. I had a couple of trips over the bars at warp speeds, but could mostly blame myself for my inattentiveness.
From time to time we would venture over into the “intensive use” area and had to be on the lookout for unexploded ammunition, razor wire, and “tow” wire. Tow wire comes from tow missiles. Evil stuff, tow wire, and virtually invisible. Funny thing about razor wire; after a wad of it weathers for a couple of years, it looks exactly like a briar patch in winter. The difference becomes quite evident when the briar patch comes alive, reaches out, grabs your tire, and wraps itself inextricably into your wheel. We learned to carry wire cutters.
Funnier thing about bombs; they look more like Michelob bottles than anything else. We were riding through a particular section for a couple of years with no worries, when the Forestry Service decided it was time to burn the area. With the grass cleared; it became evident that we had been riding through literally hundreds of bombs! Hopefully they were not “live”, but I took no chances, and painted them orange until I ran out of paint.
But the scariest hazard that I ran across had nothing to do with bombs, wire, or warp speeds. It was bovine in nature, and completely unexpected. Roger Bailey, Chad Tate, and I were working over at the end of Iron Bridge Road. I had fell behind a bit, and was happily poking along, stapling up arrows, enjoying the beautiful day, the blue birds, and bunny rabbits.
Oh look! What’s that up ahead? It’s a herd of cows! Over on the right side of the trail, there are mamma cows, baby cows, adolescent cows, all looking back at me with a sort of bored expression. They commanded my full attention, though, as these did not appear to be the warm, soft, fuzzy sort of cows found in ice-cream commercials. They looked more like something you would find in a John Wayne movie. Still, I did not appear to interest them very much, they being herbivores and all. Had I been a bit less enthralled by the beautiful day, and the rather bucolic scene; perhaps I would have noticed a missing piece of the puzzle. Where is the daddy cow?
I had moved past the herd, and was lending my attention more to the task at hand, when I heard the blood-curdling, guttural, primal bellow!! Words can-not describe it; it could have easily been a T-rex. As I frantically looked over to my left, and out of no-where; there came the enraged bull. He had completely flipped out, his eyes were literally bulging from their sockets, he had various disgusting fluids slinging out of his nose and mouth, he was maybe 20 feet away and he was coming fast. I don’t know what set him off, perhaps he was having a bad day, though there was no mistaking his intent. He wanted me dead, right now, and he was going to see to it personally! I was literally staring death in the face!
Thankfully; I had the little XR200 already running, in gear, and with the clutch pulled in, so I was able to make a fast getaway. Still, it was a close call. I couldn’t help but look back as I was pulling away, and that some-beach was right there, clawing the earth, with his head low, and reaching for the rear of the motorcycle. He missed by inches, and by that time I was into second gear and he had missed his opportunity. Fifteen years later, and I still shudder when I think of how that might have turned out if I had been just a bit slower, or if he had not bellowed as he did to tip me off.
I have raced motorcycles for over thirty years, and I believe that was the closest I have ever come to meeting my maker. A freakin’ cow! Maybe that’s why I like hamburgers so much.
Jonny
