Goosed!

I took a ride on the Nun today, to the Harbor Freight in Dellwood, Missouri, in search of a 24mm combination wrench. When I pulled into the parking lot there was a jumble of cars in my way so I headed out to the far end of the parking lot to go around all the cagers. As I headed back toward the main drive in front of the stores I saw a large goose take off from there and head in my direction. Flying nearly the length of a football field this goose bee-lined toward me. I figured he'd veer or climb but he didn't, so I began to swerve to one side. He matched my move!

So I began to slow down and then ducked at the last instant as he struck me on the right shoulder. It was quite a blow. It was like being hit with a frozen turkey. I stopped and checked out the goose. He was a big sonovagun. He had his bill open and his tongue hanging out and he was making menacing faces at me. Bizarre.

I continued on my way and was stopped by a security woman in a patrol car who checked to see if I was OK. We were laughing and talking about the incident when she said "here come two more!" I turned and sure enough, two different enraged geese were threatening and approaching me from the other side. I said "I'd better go" and continued to Harbor Freight.

When I left the store I drove back to the first goose to see if he was alright. He had been holding one wing down after colliding with me. He began threatening me again so I decided to leave him alone. But when I started off he took to the air again and hit me in the left shoulder from behind, repeatedly thumping me with something (wings, feet, bill?). One point stung pretty good, despite my wearing a windbreaker, two sweatshirts and a T-shirt. I wish I'd been wearing my leather jacket.

I never saw geese act so crazy and I did an experiment on the way home. I drove through an office park that is full of geese and approached several groups and pairs of them. None of them wanted to mess with me. I'm sure the mated ganders would have threatened me if I was on foot, but on the bike I looked too big to mess with. Also, none of the dozens of geese in the office park were half the size of the one that attacked me.

Theories: 1. The big guy was a different and more aggressive subpecies (there are seven subspecies of Canada Goose and several related variants). 2. The big guy had a bad history with some motorcyclist. 3. The big guy mistook my black and white T100 for a huge rival goose. 4. You tell me.

I suggested to my wife that we go back and have her videotape another encounter, but she's chicken. Too bad. It would be interesting to see the mode of attack. I was too busy ducking to see it at the time.

I'm a big guy, the T100 is nearly 500 lbs and I'm a veteran rider who isn't easily spooked by animals. Plus, I was wearing a full-coverage helmet, leather gauntlets, high top boots and thermal overalls in addition to the above-mentioned clothes; so I was pretty well armored. I feel sorry for any skinny teenager on a sport bike wearing a T-shirt and sneakers who drives through that parking lot. He might get flattened by a giant goose.

Moving to Motorcycle Paradise

In a couple of weeks the Nun and I are moving to a "cabin in the woods" near High Ridge, Missouri. Actually it's a wood-siding modern house on the edge of a subdivision in the woods, but let's not split hairs.

The roads around there are motorcycle paradise; both for the hilly twisty 2-lane roads and for the beautiful scenery. The terrain is too hilly and rocky for most kinds of agriculture, but not for fruit orchards and horse farms.

My new place of employment is about 15 minutes from my new home, by way of hilly twisties. The ride home will take much longer, and will be by a different route every day. I have many miles of new (to me) roads to explore.

And what timing! Spring will be in full swing soon, and every path will be filled with the scent of blossoms. Plus, I now get to pursue a mini-hobby I've wanted to pursue: charting the northward progress of armadillos into the St. Louis area.

Oh, and I'll have a garage again, so when the weather is too crummy to ride the bike, I can work on the bike instead.

This is going to be the best riding season ever!

Then Came Bronson

In 1969, a year before I turned 16 and bought my first motorcycle, there was a TV series about a guy wandering around the country on a motorcycle. The show was OK. The best part was his "convertible" motorcycle. When he rode it on the highway it was a 886cc Sportster. But whenever he took it off road it turned into a 350cc Sprint. Nice trick.

Oddly, a guy who lived at the end of my street owned a Sprint, so I knew what one was, unlike most people in the world. The Sprint was a single-cylinder "thumper" built by Aermacchi of Italy and marketed by Harley Davidson as one of their own.

 

When Bronson's Sportster turned into a Sprint, it still had the red Sportster "peanut" fuel tank with the distinctive "all seeing eye" motif. I don't know if that fooled many people.

Our neighborhood had some very uncool motorcycles. One friend's father rode a small Honda scrambler (150cc?) and looked kind of silly on it. Another friend rode a Cushman, a moped and a Sears Allstate. My first bike was a 250 Honda Dream, so who am I to talk?

Time of the Signs

Last weekend I took a long ride around the neighborhood and shot a few interesting photos. First I saw a sign warning drivers to watch out for acrobatic deer.

Next I saw this sign next to a pretty pond in an upscale neighborhood. It made me think, "Welcome to Funland!"

And then, a day after watching a show about feral hogs in Florida, I turned into a cul-de-sac and saw this:

At first I thought it was real. Then I made note of the familiar color scheme and decided to take this shot.

Moto Museum

I recently rode the Nun to Moto Europa in Downtown St. Louis for a minor adjustment.

While I was there I visited the Moto Museum next door. Wow. What a great collection of vintage motorcycles.

Here's my favorite, the Bohmerland three-seater. Click on the pics to enlarge them.

Dig those crazy cast-iron wheels, baby. That is one super-funky motorcycle. Talk about Steam Punk.

"Bohmerland" means "Bohemian." And yes, it's a Czechoslovakian machine. This one is a 1927 model with a 600 cc engine.

Don't you just want to fire this monster up and see if you can get it around the block without crashing? I sure do.

I haven't been to the adjacent "Triumph Cafe" yet. Maybe next time.