BUGS

From a friend on another list:

Al

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BUGS



Upon hearing the word, bugs, the mind immediately conjures up thoughts of
creepy crawling insects, which frighten, scare and even to some extent cause
phobias. They spread diseases, spoil food and are a downright nuisance at
outdoor functions such as at the beach, swimming pools and when trying to
lie still so as to get an even suntan. It goes without saying that at
barbeques and camping they're the uninvited guests. Since some bugs can
cause painful injuries or even death it is understandable

why to the general public not only are they harmful, they're even cursed.



To a motorcyclist, who has to contend with erratic car drivers, mad dogs,
slippery roads and over zealous police also has to put up with bugs. Nature,
in its infinite wisdom has five bugs in mind, five specialised creations
that have evolved to seek out the motorcyclist and make his life on the road
just that little bit harder. Meeting one of these airborne hazards can be an
experience, meeting them all is a nightmare.



The first is known as Maximus Splatterus (to give it it's official Latin
title) and it is the dumbest of the group. Without fail, it always strikes
just after you have left a petrol station following a washing, cleaning and
with tender loving care polished your helmet visor. Hardly have you changed
into top gear when this bug commits suicide right in front of your vision.
With your ears still ringing and your head recovering from the impact, you
always attempt to wipe clean the mess. This action will always result in
reducing your vision further, which in a way is a blessing since you're
about to wipe out three pedestrians and a phone box.



The second is far smarter; he doesn't commit suicide although if you catch
it, it will be first-degree murder. You see this one is a killer. It manages
to find an opening in the clothing, then attacks. Since a large proportion
of riders travel during the summer months with their jackets partially
opened at the neck this makes the ideal entrance.



Without touching the skin, this joker zooms in, lands and simply waits. As
soon as you start to lean, such as entering a favourite high speed bend,
that is the time for action. Quickly it gets airborne, does a quick lap
around your midriff, used the navel like a trampoline and whilst you're
laughing, twisting or turning about it does a quick exit. By this time you
have left the road, aiming straight for the biggest tree imaginable. All you
can now do is say your prayers, close your eyes and prepare to meet your
Maker.



The remaining three models would gladly attack those riders who still prefer
the open face helmet. They rarely show any interest in the full-faced
helmeted personnel.



The singer is the first of this group. Like all singers, this bug requires
an audience. When you least expect it, the singer crawls along the helmet
lining, drops into the ear, sings a few bars, and then waits for a round of
applause.



However, the only sound that can be heard is that of a hopelessly locked
rear wheel as you do your best to stop in the shortest possible time, fling
off the helmet, insert a finger in the ear and try to get the culprit to
leave the premises. Upset from the lack of applause, it takes off in search
of another victim - er audience. This incident happens more often than you
think. Look at all the black skid marks on the highways.



The second of this group are a group consisting of whole families, plus
uncles, aunties and cousins. The make their home in the riders' hair. In
olden days, they used to make their home on helmet less riders, but had a
tough time hanging on due to dandruff flakes. Worse was their attempt at
landing, they used to ricochet off due to the handful of hair spray. It was
mass suicide - broken homes everywhere. They also tried the eyes or nose but
found floods and 200 kph sneezing blasts not much to their liking. When
riders started to wear the pudding base and later the jet style helmets
their chances was improved and the population increased. Microscopic in
size, they attach themselves onto the helmet lining and once landed onto the
hair, set up household. Harmless in all respects, you know they're around
when a rider takes off his helmet, scratches his scalp, followed by a
shaking of the head. Nothing to worry about, the rider can very easily live
with the problem.



The last peril always work in pairs. They have superb teamwork and precision
timing that makes any sergeant-major proud. The smaller of the two, the
fighter, lands and savagely bites the corner of the mouth. (The scar is
called a cold sore). Naturally, the rider opens his mouth and gives out a
blood curling agonising scream. The bomber then takes over, dives and lands
on a quivering tongue, stomps as hard as possible, walks over and kicks the
living daylights out of the Adam's apple, walks back to the surface and with
his team mate takes off in search of another unfortunate victim. The pain is
excruciating and can turn any rider into a blithering idiot, not, as one
thinks, the consumption of massive intake of amber liquids.



Well, that covers one of the enemies a motorcyclist has to endure.



As for the helmet less rider, nature hasn't prepared any flying horrors. She
figures that since this rider is a lost cause, why bother wasting time in
planning such enemies.



FRANK CACHIA

 

Heh.Heh

However from the bug's point of view.

I was just going into the car-wash with the missus and this git on a
motorcycle didn't indicate and whacked me right in the arse!
Good job there's another 3 million in me family and we,"Never" forget
:O

"You may be big,but you aren't really important" said the bug as he
hit the visor ;-)

 

Oh yes, the memories flood back of my Oz trip. No tissues and care in
cleaning the helmet, just the normal windscreen cleaning gadget that they
have and every night putting the helmet in a hot shower to remove the
splatter there.

 

Yes indeed. Ever put your helmet where you shouldn't have and had some
unwelcome guests?

Yesterday at the dam near Kulnurra, I put the helmet on one of the posts out
there as it would've blown off the bike seat. When I was putting it on I
noticed something under the mic - it was a pretty large green ant and he/she
was not happy Jan. Pincers ready to inflict grievous lippily harm and a
look to kill. This one didn't get my pound of flesh but I was pretty
nervous that it was the only one when finally having the courage to put the
helmet back on. Close one.

That kind of pain on the face can't be fun on a ride...

Cheers,
Dave E