Bowling for Ungulates

My morning began with a light drizzle awakening me from my slumber, instead of the typical first rays of dawn. Fortunately, the clouds were generous enough to hold off on the downpour until I was able to get my gear all packed up and weatherized for the day. Prepared for the morning showers, I climbed onto my bike and started back toward the road, a single-lane, minimally-traveled back country offshoot of Highway 3, nestled in the foothills of the Kootenay Mountains. As the highway wound through a narrow valley bed, virtually every road off it was a climb into the mountains, and this one proved to be no exception. Having done the climbing the previous night in order to find a camp site, I enjoyed the prospect of a quick downhill jaunt back down to the highway, to be back on my merry way.

I quickly built up speed as I descended to the valley floor in the pouring rain. As I made my way around one of the tight bends, though, I suddenly came across a monstrous bull moose who was standing directly across the roadway, legs ever so slightly splayed, peeing in the middle of the road and looking quite content to do so. Much like having a wall appear in front of you as you hurtle down the highway at 40 kph, this was no trivial matter. I quickly jammed on my brakes and tried to swerve around it at the same time, a predictably poor combination, all the more so on wet roads. My rear tire skidded out from under me, and down I went, still careening directly toward the moose, who seemed in no particular hurry to move. It was about at this point that it started looking like the end to me.

It was also at this point, however, that time started moving in slow-motion, as it is fabled to do in dire enough circumstances. I remember sliding under the moose and looking up at it, and, in the same way that that kid from Free Willy must've surely thought during the climactic slo-mo jumping scene, "Oh god, this whale is going to crush me," I thought, "Oh god, this thing is going to come down on me." But as I continued skidding, through the damp mat of hanging hair and through the stream of pee (yes, I was peed on by a moose, okay?), I began to think differently. Indeed, I continued my slide, bike and all, right between those four gangly legs, and on down the road, coming to a stop a few metres past him. (I suppose the combination of the smooth asphalt, the rain and my rain gear turned the whole road into something of a slip'n'slide.)

I quickly scrambled to my feet and wheeled around, yelling, "What the HELL?", and "Have you no sense of self-preservation?" (well, given the circumstances, probably something considerably less eloquent and more profane). The bull turned and glared at me, still peeing, and I quickly realized my place, which was, quite simply, to be scared out of my wits. I hastily hobbled to what I perceived to be a safer distance, and surveyed the damage. Though my gear took some hits (torn saddle bag, ripped bar tape, etc.), I seemed to come out relatively unscathed, save for a sore shoulder, a slightly wrenched back, and an oncoming bout of nausea from the adrenaline.

I looked back up the road at the moose, who had by now sauntered off to the trees. I looked at my iPod, which I had only just put on to an episode of This American Life, and only a small fraction of time had passed. Did that really just happen?

Now, I know that I seem to have missed all four legs, but I'm going to go ahead and chalk that up as a strike anyway. And to you, Mr. Moose, I officially dub thee Ferdinand. May you enjoy a long and happy life sniffing daisies under a peaceful tree somewhere.