¿Por Qué El Avetruz Cruzó La Calle?

Every once in a while, an animal crosses my path while riding.  Usually, the creature is a cat or dog who darts away when I get within a few feet.  When I've ridden in Florida, little green lizards played "chicken" with me as I rode along the paths and sidewalks. In Cambodia, macaques sat guard on the side of the road as I pedaled between the temples of Siem Reap. And in Laos, an elephant stopped and stared at me and the couple with whom I rode in and around Luang Pr'bang.

Only once did I have a too-close encounter with an animal:  On the return leg of a ride to Point Lookout, a cat (black, no less!) charged into my path and glanced off my front wheel--something I've never experienced before or since.  I tumbled into the rear of a parked car and ended up with bruises and a couple of days' worth of pain, but no serious injury. 

At least I was more fortunate than a woman in Argentina.  As she pedaled into a Buenos Aires intersection, an ostrich--yes, you read that right--charged into her.  

Now, since I have never encountered an ostrich that wasn't caged,  I had no idea that they could run so fast:  They can attain speeds of 70KPH (44MPH).  One thing I know is that an ostrich is bigger than, say, a sparrow.  So the force of that earthbound avian's impact knocked that woman, I am sure, harder than the cat who ran into my front wheel in Ozone Park.

So, perhaps not surprisingly, she got hurt worse than I did:  The bird, after hobbling, toppling over and continuing on its way, left the woman with a broken wrist and a large cut on her head.

Argentine authorities haven't said what charges, if any will be leveled against the bird.  For one thing, the Argentine speed limit is 40KPH (25MPH) in residential areas and 60KPH (37MPH) in urban areas.  A review of videos could reveal whether the ostrich--which seems to have escaped from someone's home--was doing its "personal best."  Oh, and I have to wonder what Argentinian law says about leaving the scene of an accident.

Oh, Deer!

In my four decades as a cyclist, all sorts of animals have crossed my path: dogs, cats, squirrels, chipmunks, cattle, chickens, rabbits, otters, raccoons, horses, armadillos, lizards, macaques and an Alpine Ibex.  And, of course, deer--including one that darted across the lane I was riding in the Bronx a few weeks ago.

A deer crossing might be one of cyclists' most common fears,at least in the Americas, as it can do some real damage and one has a chance of encountering one in rural or wooded areas from Alaska to Chile.  On the other hand, one doesn't have much of a chance of encountering an ibex or macaque unless one rides in their native lands.

Such fears were justified for a group of cyclists in North Carolina.  




Fortunately, none of those cyclists were hurt, even though the crash sent the deer flying over them.  The critter, though, wasn't so lucky:  It died.

Everything In Australia Is Trying To Kill You!

When I was delivering newspapers on my Schwinn Continental many years ago, dogs chased me.   Deer crossed my path as I rode in the Bronx(!) as well as on rural descents in New Jersey and Vermont.  On another descent--in Switzerland--an Alpine ibex darted across my the road in front of me just after I flatted at about 90 KPH on a bike with loaded panniers.  A few years later, I had a close encounter with a mountain goat while pedaling--again, with loaded panniers--in the French Pyrenees.  

This summer, while cycling in Cambodia, I became wary of the monkeys after seeing one set on a tourist for her food and a pack of them attacking a dog.

And I've had cats, racoons, and other lil' critters come close to entangling themselves in my spokes.  I must say, though, that I've never had an encounter with an animal quite like the one a cyclist in Australia experienced:

Imagine being swatted on your helmet by--a magpie!  I won't accuse the filmer of paranoia when he exlaims, "Everything in Australia is trying to kill you!"

Drones And Crits Don't Mix

When riding in the city, a cyclist has to be aware of--in addition to motor vehicles and their drivers--pedestrians.  All it takes is one darting across the street at mid-block, or someone ambling through an intersection while looking at an iPhone screen, to send a cyclist tumbling to the pavement.  

In fact, I have incurred two falls--one on Broadway in SoHo, the other in Coney Island--caused by pedestrians who barrelled across a street without looking in the direction of the approaching traffic (which included me).  In the SoHo incident, said pedestrian--who was shopping with a friend--at least stopped and apologized. In the other mishap, the boy who plowed into me--who appeared to be about 14 or 15 years old--simply kept on going.  

I wasn't hurt in either incident, but things could have been worse.  Even scarier, though, were two instances in which I didn't actually crash, but could easily have taken a hit and a tumble.  Both happened when I was riding down mountains and an animal crossed my path:  a deer in Pennsylvania; an Alpine Ibex just after I crossed the border from France into Switzerland.  

During my brief career as an amateur racer, I went down once and had a near-miss.  Both were the result of other riders who jackknifed in front of me.  In the crash, I wrecked an expensive front wheel but, fortunately, not the bike--or me.  In the near-miss, another rider incurred similar damage when he and a couple of other riders hit the pavement a bit further back in the pack from where I'd been riding.

Now it seems there's a new hazard that can take a racer out of the game, or leave a rider with  road rash or worse:



It almost sounds like one of those excuses I'd hear from a student who didn't show up for class the day a term paper was due.  (That's happening to me this week!)  "I got hit by a drone".  At least, that's now more plausible than "My drone ate it!"

Seriously, though:  We have to watch for low-flying or falling drones.  Imagine if one caused a pileup in, say, the Tour, Giro or Vuelta!

Why Did The Fill-In-The-Blank Cross The Road--In My Path?

I’m still thinking about the cat that smacked into my front wheel and caused me to crash.  The bike and I are OK, but I wonder what happened to him/her.

Other cats have crossed my path as I’ve pedaled.  One or both of us get out of the other’s or each other’s way.  At least, that’s how it worked until that unfortunate feline

Dogs are different.  I’ve been chased by a few; others jumped and tugged their leashes.  Some have walked up to me when I’ve stopped, and I rescued one that was wandering around in the middle of an intersection not far from where I worked.  I carried her in one hand while I steered with the other.  She stayed remarkably calm as I pedaled through traffic.  If I didn’t already have two cats—for whom I had to plead with my landlady for permission to move them with me into the house in which I was living—and had a bigger living space, I might have kept that cute little Yorkie—at least, I think that’s what she was.

As for other animals, I think most can be placed in one of two categories:  the ones who do whatever they can to get out of our way and the ones that barrel ahead in a straight line, completely oblivious to any cyclist who might collide with them.

Deer are in that latter category.  Several have bounded across my path; a riding buddy and I came within a tire width (or so it seemed) of splattering ourselves against the side of one that darted across the road at the bottom of a steep hill we descended.  In Bucks County (PA), no less.  You can’t make this stuff up.

I’ve seen moose, ibexes and mountain goats act in the same way:  straight ahead, with blinders on, across the road.  I wonder whether all ungulates behave that way.

Animals that avoid you include cats (most of the time), squirrels, chipmunks, lizards, armadillos and, believe it or not, snakes.  At least, the three snakes that I can recall crossing the path I was riding slithered away. 

Every one of those animals I’ve mentioned has entered upon “my” (Talk about a sense of entitlement!) riding space as I approached. 

In Florida, I’ve ridden paths and roads that rimmed or transversed swamps.  I’ve seen alligators, but none came near the road or path.  Do they avoid those things altogether, or was I just lucky?

Why did the alligator cross the road?  Well, actually, this one didn’t cross:  It was just standing there, on a street in DUMBO as I rode by.  I can’t help but to wonder:  Did it somehow just end up on the street in that position, or did someone leave it there?