A bird in the head is better than two in the bush

Continuing the theme of great fall mountain biking and the stories that go with them, here's part II in the Remembering the Good Times series. 

Some people have all the luck. Some people just have all the good stories. Take my good friend, The Man with Two First Names, for instance. For 10 years I've been regaled by his tales of mishaps, bruh-ha-has, workplace debacles, and clever plots. But it's his biking stories that ring the truest. 

Example #1: Descending Mueller Park trail, perfect weather, trail conditions are good for speed and a large pine hen sits squarely in the trail. As the TMWTFN approaches, the bird flies up ahead of him, seemingly leading him down the trail; kind of like its sounding the warning to all oncoming traffic. 

But just as this appears like a gesture of good will, the bird turns and attacks, latches cleanly onto his head and neck and hangs on for several seconds. TMWTFN actually had to brake to a complete stop and reach back and punch the bird several times to make it release its death grip on his head/neck.  And of course no one was willing to help; everyone was immobilized with laughter.

I can't explain what he looked like, so I'll use a series of photos to illustrate it; you pick the one(s) you like best and begin to visualize.

Ordinarily we all have a good story from a favorite trail or destination, but TMWTFN has many stories from many trails.

Example #2: Same trail, Mueller Park, dead of summer, middle of the day. Hotter than the desert in Africa. As he's climbing up the trail, he meets a runner escorting an elderly man down  the trail who is dehydrated and desperately needs water. Really, this man may have been closer to death than I can reasonably emphasize.

Being the kind-hearted giver that he is, TMWTFN immediately dismissed the old man's needs and told him he'd lived a good life and that dying the wilderness was many a man's wish. Soon, the runner and the fellow cycling companions (who were even more kind-hearted) coerced him into sharing the water from his Camelbak. 

So he graciously holds the hose over the dying man's mouth and drips a few drops of water from the bladder into his parched mouth. "No, not like that!" insists the runner..."you've got to let him get a good long suck on that mouthpiece for him to get enough water."

Here's what was sucking that mouthpiece.

Now I have to be more honest, the man didn't look exactly like this...he was older and had fewer teeth.

The loud slurping and sucking and drooling that was occurring at the expense of the Camelbak's mouthpiece made nails on the chalkboard sound like a lullaby.

And while this gesture may truly have saved an old man from dying, it scarred several other men for life.

Needless to say, the mouthpiece was instantly incinerated and someone else spent the day dehydrated instead of the old man.

These stories aren't meant only for your entertainment, however; there's a life lesson to be learned here.

No matter how many birds get stuck in your hair and neck, or how many disoriented bums have to suckle from the teat of your proverbial Camelbak, it's always better than being shat upon by a impatient pigeon with lower GI distress.

Rubber side down.