Aerial Assault

I consider myself something of an outdoorsman, capable of living in harmony with nature's many "things." Snakes don't bother me at all; in fact, I'm quite fond of them. Spiders are OK. Bats thrill me. And although I would prefer not to come face to face with a bear on a mountain trail, their presence won't keep me from hiking through their back yard. Come to think of it, there's not too much in the animal kingdom that truly frightens me.

Except geese. Just look at that picture. It looks like the goddamn Loch Ness Monster!

Recently I was biking a 15-mile stretch of towpath in Point Pleasant, Pa., which runs parallel to a murky canal rife with painted turtles, bullfrogs and wood ducks. Then there are the Canada geese. It seems it's that time of year when the geese have hatched their goslings and are teaching them to survive in the big, bad world. Part of that survival training, apparently, is to leave slick loaves of goose shit all over the trail to crud up your bike tires and, in turn, spray your face with turd remnants. How pleasant. Another part: chasing off minding-their-own-business trail bikers who want nothing more than to sweat and stay out of the damn way.

True story: Around mile ten of my ride one of these geese actually took flight and hectored me for a good fifty to a hundred feet. Imagine: You pass a cluster of these hissing, crapping, honking birds and one takes a particular dislike to you, so you start pedaling your ass off and turn only to see this beast just a foot or two from your unprotected skull, its mouth agape and wings flapping, so you pedal harder but this petulant SOB keeps gaining. You think, This is the end. Like Steve Irwin, my death will come at the hands of an unlikely killer. They will find my corpse, eyes strangely absent, with goslings feasting on my lifeless innards.

To end the suspense: I survived the encounter. The goose eventually peeled away, with me wishing like hell someone else had been there with me to see it all happen.

Geese. Bastards. You've got to appreciate their spunk. It wasn't the first time a wild animal has tried to injure me. And I'm sure it won't be the last. I won't even mention a particular crabbing expedition when my sister tried to push me into shark-infested waters. Bitch.