Bird Strike

Recently some large birds, Canada geese I believe, flew into the engines of a commercial jetliner causing the pilot to perform an amazing emergency landing in the Hudson river. While everyone survived, there were injuries for some on board. And for the next several weeks, any tidbit of a story that involved birds, airports and jets was trotted out as "news".

I have found that some species of birds fly in unpredictable paths during their takeoff. Most notably, doves seem to fly erratically whether taking off because they were finished eating or to avoid being eaten. I marvel at what sounds like squeaky wings when they suddenly depart from beneath our birch trees in the front yard.

On a motorcycle, one must anticipate the trajectory of any object on the freeway so that appropriate changes in course and speed can be made to avoid a collision. Sometimes, very large bugs become visible with less than a second to spare, and I know that my leather jacket will protect me from harm as the insect ends its life on my torso. Almost as soon as my brain identifies the object, it calculates and compares our relative paths to alert me whether a collision is inevitable. For these smaller critters, I do not intend to swerve or put myself or other drivers at risk. But how would I react if the "critter" was a bird?

A few weeks ago, I was commuting to work on a particularly clear and bright morning. My route takes me past a beautiful wetland along Highway 680, a wetland frequented by many kinds of birds. I will never know the reason the group of doves (hardly a flock) decided to launch as I approached them at 66 mph, but they did and my brain did its calculation. Riding as a commuter in the diamond lane, I have more flexibility than motorists to my right; however, one stragling bird was unable to gain enough altitude across 3 lanes of traffic and it was clear we were going to meet violently. I held on to the handlebars tightly and leaned my torso forward to be a low and as battering ram-like as possible.

Full-face helmets have their advantages, not the least of which is keeping all debris out of the driver's eyes, nose and mouth. Shaped like the nose of a 747, my helmet tends to deflect most things caught in the breeze as it divides around me. The clumsy dove, however, was too large to be influenced by my eddies as it slammed into the brow of my helmet just above the visor. When you consider that the dove was hit broadside by a solid object traveling 66 mph, well, the outcome is clear.



My moto did not waiver in its course, my helmet was easily cleaned, I was not injured, nor did I have to make an emergency landing. Survival of the fittest indeed applied as the herd of doves was thinned by one that day.

The Bee

The Knoll Pool at The Ridge is aptly named because the desert community of Minden, NV is visible to the southeast while the green Lake Tahoe basin is visible to the north. At 7800' of elevation, I chose to gently glide through the pool rather than doing laps, taking my time to acclimate to the reduced oxygen.

What summertime and pools have in common at most elevations is the inevitable discovery of a drowning insect. The honeybee was nearing the end of his struggle, legs flailing uselessly as his body bobbed wherever the children's waves sent him. I paused, remembering the two times I was stung, and the fact that I'm allergic to bee stings and did not have my Epipen handy. In less time that it takes to read this sentence, I remembered that nasty yellow jackets had stung me without provocation, which is how I learned of my severe allergy. This honeybee was probably just doing his job when he became stranded by an errant splash of pool water.

I cupped my hands under water to ensure adequate cushion for the bee, and then I lifted my make-shift bowl and set him on the pool deck. Initially, he walked, staggered really, in an erratic path. Perhaps this was the remnant of his frantic attempt at swimming. Then he abruptly stopped walking and stood still on the warm pool deck in the full sun. I stayed in the water, watching him, cautioning approaching barefoot humans to give him a wide berth.

After several motionless minutes warming in the sun, the bee began to "groom" himself, forelegs wiping over his head like a fly, tentative movement of wings, abdomen noticeably flexing. I thought this was good news and hoped a hungry Bluejay did not intend to appear and ruin the moment.

When the bee suddenly lifted off and flew away, I felt a sense of connectedness to creation. What a perfect way to ease into a summer nap.