#419 / #213
Thursday, 19 May
Another lovely day on the American River Trail, filled with wildlife.
Baby turkeys were seen: my husband, Red Leader, speculated that they would be called Turk-lets. I voted for Gob-lets. A post-ride consultation with a dictionary yielded 'poults' as a general name for immature fowl. Our designations were better.
Then, there was another edition of Suicide Squirrel. I came as close as I ever have to clobbering one. I missed. But because I missed I think I noticed the face I made. If I'd hit it, I would have no recollection of any facial gyrations on my part . I didn't brake, I didn't swerve, I didn't stop pedaling. Instead, I tilted my head to the left, scrunched my mouth, and clenched my nostrils. Apparently, that was enough to cause the squirrel to teleport out from under my trike.
CU and may your rides be critter-safe.