The Turtle, the Hare, & the Deer

Now that the weather has begun to turn, meaning you can ride in the evening with a pair of shorts and a long-sleeve jersey (as opposed to seven layers of lycra), I’ve been hitting the road after I get home from work. And what that means is my ride usually starts before the street lights begin to click on yet it ends once it’s full dark. No big deal, right? Just strap on the Cateye headlight and blinking taillight? Well, I do all that and while the bright flashing lights do keep the cars away from me (mostly), the wildlife here in Westchester just don’t seem to get it.

I used to have the same problem when I lived in Brooklyn and spent most of my time riding in Prospect Park. Between running over squirrels and rats, not to mention dodging the occasional pigeon, I thought the vermin in the park had it in for me, although now that I’m up in the woods, I’ve got bigger issues to handle.

For instance, last night. I’m plowing along down a flat piece of road. I glance down at my watch to check my heart rate. I look back up and what’s in the middle of the road about fifty feet ahead of me? A deer. Not a big antler motherf*cker, but a doe. Still, does may seem cute when you’re flying along the expressway at 70 MPH in your SUV and you spot a few chewing cud on the side of the road, but when you’re on a bicycle and they’re right there in front of you, there really isn’t all that much to find cute, especially when one of them is looking at you as if she’s thinking it necessary to kick you in the head in the name of self-preservation.

Then there was the white rabbit, the hare. There I am, cruising along, when a snow-white rabbit jumps out of the bushes and pauses for a moment, as if its unsure if it wants to run out in front of my bike. No doubt the rabbit is fully aware that if it tries running in front of me, I’ll swerve to avoid mangled rabbit in my spokes, yet swerving means I go in one of two directions: left into oncoming traffic or right into the curb.

Goddam rabbits. I got lucky when the rabbit decided to let me pass unscathed, yet I imagined the rabbit in the bushes huddled with a few friends: “Shh! Here he comes. Ready? One. Two. Three. Go, Mike, go!” And then, when the white rabbit’s friends watch me endo over the curb and land face first in the nearest driveway, they would no doubt have a blast laughing their asses off. “Nice work, Mike, now let’s go mess with some mountain bikers.”

So all I can say is, in the unlikely event you find yourself riding a bicycle in Westchester after the sun goes down, watch your ass. These jackass bunnies are not messing around up here.