Jaques Costeau Is No Friend Of Mine

*** continued from previous post ***


THE BEAR swings her massive head to look at us. It's not a particularly friendly gesture. She is obviously not frightened - curious would be a more apt description. Annoyed would be another. I jump on the brakes as hard as I can without skidding. The only thing worse than running INTO the bear, would be to tip over and SLIDE INTO the bear. I've seen enough cartoons in my day to understand this would be, according to animated mythology, 'bad'.

It was then that I realize that I should probably inform your mother, for the umpteenth time on this journey, of our impending death.

I reach back and pat her on the leg to get her attention. "Suz, I don't know how to tell you this, but after all we've been through today it looks like we are going to be eaten by a bear. A Grizzly Bear. And a huge one at that. With a big butt. But that's beside the point. I'm so sorry sweetie, I didn't want it to end like this. I will offer myself first. I'm twice your size, and perhaps she will fill up on me, giving you at least a fighting chance for an escape. I love you."

But what came out was a high-pitched girly-girl EEEeeeiiiiiieeeee!!!"

Frantically, I fumble for the horn button. It's somewhere on the handle bars, but damned if I can find it. I do manage to change the headlight from bright to dim to bright again. I think THE BEAR may have interpreted this as an attention getting device for she slowed a bit and turned her massive shoulders towards us with a calculating eye. I'm hoping that the bike is enough to distract her. That she will appreciate the flowing lines that are the Vision. Marvel at its unique design, the subtle engineering, and the beau coup enhancements that escape the casual glance.

No luck, THE BEAR could care less. Evidently, she's more into sport bikes.

I attempt, once again, to warn your Mother.

"Bear. Bear! BEAR!!!", I shout, with each word spoken more distinctly, louder, and in a slightly higher pitch than the one preceding.

The 'boys' - and once again, don't feign ignorance - have not only left the building, but taken a cab back to Seattle and forgot to close the door and turn off the lights. A part of me, the detached observing bastard inside, marvels as the words escape my mouth. Evidently certain death adheres to the rule of three. As in, the Three Musketeers, the Three Stooges, and the three things you shout right before you die. Usually, and this is documented on Wikipedia, (Wait just a second . . . okay . . . it's documented now), the three things most often said right before you die an untimely death is, "Shit. Shit! SHITTTTT!!!" Or, if it is really untimely, just "Shi-. . . "

THE BEAR kind of sways her head back and forth, as if she may be singing to Sir-Mix-A-Lot as well. Or possibly the Foo Fighters. I make no judgment as to her musical taste. The important thing is that I've seen this behavior on the Discovery Channel. To put it politely, we are screwed. This is what's commonly referred to in the animal kingdom as 'Le Dance d'appetite'. Or, in the vulgar, 'I'm gonna boogie me up a hunger'.

Somewhere deep inside a memory bubbles to the surface. I hear Jaques Costeau intone. . .

"But de intrepid motorscooterists are no match for de bare. We shed ze zmall teer as nate-chur, in all her splendor, keeps da balance. Eef it were not for de bares, the landscape wood be over run with motorscooterists. Once again we are reminded dat de miracle dat ez life ez harsh as well bee-yootefull. Now, let's sit back and watch as she mak ze keel."

Frickin' Jaques Costeau.


*** the journey continues. maybe ***