SUMMERTIME! Just the word evokes visions of baseball, beaches, and cookouts. It’s one of the most anticipated times of year for anyone who loves the outdoors, especially if you ride a motorcycle. Everybody revels in racking up miles on long days full of good weather, either in the mountains or down by the water. No matter where you are, it’s likely you could wind up having a run-in with the butt end of a bee. It happens. I find baking soda and water can sap the pain instantly for some bee stings, while others seem to be neutralized better with an acidic approach like lemon juice. And while it might hurt, no matter what remedy you use to soothe the ache, you could also wind up with a little comic relief too.
My buddy Earl believed in the power of tobacco when I had my first pointed encounter. He was taking me on a tour of nice roads around White Hall, Virginia. It was early in the day, still a chill in the air, but I was comfortable wearing a denim jacket over my tank top as well as a pair of lightweight gloves. At least until I felt like I’d been stabbed in my upper back with a poison-dipped ice pick. I sped up to yelp at Earl that I needed to pull over, and once stopped, I jumped off the bike and tried to get my jacket off. This turned out to be impossible since in my panic I forgot to take the gloves off first. By the time poor Earl pulled up, I resembled a deranged bobblehead doll doing the Twist on the side of the road, jacket flapping behind me stuck at my wrists.
“GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!” I screamed, convinced that the pain in my throbbing back meant the stinger was still there, along with the bee. A laughing Earl assured me nothing was there except a small welt, and we rode down to a little country store for an ultimately unsuccessful search of baking soda. Earl insisted tobacco would help ease the pain, so as he scrounged up a band-aid from somewhere, I picked up a cheap pack of smokes and a bottle of water. He proceeded to mix some water and tobacco together and before he could bandage it over the sting, I turned for a quick peek in my side mirror. The small welt he said I had looked more like a third elbow growing out from between my shoulder blades, and he admitted he was just trying to make me feel better by downplaying the damage. The makeshift poultice didn’t make me feel much better either, and I still wonder exactly what stung me.
Another time, that telltale burning jolt hit me on my left hand as I rode through Front Royal, Va. Looking down, I was shocked to see a bee staring back at me from one of the holes on the knuckle of my glove. Worried it was alive and would sting me again, I started punching my leg and shaking my hand to get rid of the bee. When I finally swerved to a stop at a red light, I ripped off the glove to make sure the bee was gone. My friend Debbie pulled up beside me and giggled, “What the hell was that?!”
“Oh sorry… you didn’t know whether to turn left, slow down, watch for railroad tracks, or do the Hokey *^$^&# Pokey did ya? I got stung by a bee!” After a stop at a watering hole in Culpeper for refreshments and to ice down my hand for a while, (no baking soda again), the rest of the ride was very nice. Pulling the clutch was tricky for the next couple of days though as my hand resembled a softball, and I didn’t really have any knuckles to speak of.
Finally, the biggest surprise from one of these little bzztrdz came while on a road trip with 3 girlfriends to ride the Tail of the Dragon in 2006. Luckily, it didn’t occur on one of the 318 famed curves of the renowned road, because it was hard enough to keep control when it did. Once we’d finished the Tail and were pulling into a gas station parking lot in Tennessee, I suddenly felt like someone had slugged me across my stomach with a 2×4. I did manage to stop and park the bike, although all the wind had been knocked out of me. Yanking up my tee shirt, sweatshirt, and leather jacket, I discovered A YELLOW JACKET CIRCLING MY NAVEL! Frozen in place, trying to catch my breath and figure out how it got there, I watched as my friend, Linda came to the rescue. She flicked the bee away, yelling, “Did that thing just sting you?!” It sure had. I honestly don’t remember if I found any baking soda to try on that wound, but I do remember that my belly button had its own pulse for the rest of the day.
While I’m hoping to ride lots of bee-free miles this year, I believe a future sting is inevitable. But if the 3 strikes I’ve recalled leave me out for the rest of this season, I’m OK with that.
Meet Jory, my tuxedo kitty. Not only is he no longer puss in boots, he’s out of my jacket, my couch, and even my skin. His sharp little toenails anyway. Although he is an indoor-only cat and doesn’t need his nails for defense or escape, Jory still enjoys sharpening his claws. For reasons known only to him, his favorite texture to perform this task on used to be anything made of leather. My riding boots are put through a lot of wear and tear already, including plenty of scuffing on the left toe area due to shifting gears. If I forgot to hide my boots in a closet, Jory usually managed to add to the well-worn look by adding scratches all around the ankles. Ditto to leather jackets, his ability to give a new one a vintage look with a few swipes of his paws was incredible. Meanwhile, he ignored actual scratching posts.
It also wasn’t much of a surprise to walk through my living room and have to remove Jory from the back of the couch, dangling there by his claws. My typical response was to shrug all this off with the thought that as a long-time pet owner I just wasn’t meant to have nice things. My boyfriend is not as laid back when it comes to his belongings, like his favorite recliner which just so happens to be covered in leather. Not to mention his preference for his skin to remain intact as Jory could draw blood sometimes accidentally while playing. When we decided to become one happy family under the same roof, (along with Jory comes Legend, the Border Collie), he asked if having my cat declawed was an option.
Did I consider it an option? In a word, NO. This meant I needed to do some research and find an alternative that would lead to a peaceful, skin-all-in-one-piece, compromise. I’d become a fan of Kingsbrook Animal Hospital after taking my dog there, and my solution came quickly enough by picking up the phone. Until I called KAH, I didn’t know there were soft, vinyl caps that could be applied over the cat’s nails. There are several different brands and names, but the packages are all basically the same consisting of the nail covers and an adhesive.
Anyone who trims their own cats’ claws, or plans to start using the tips on a young cat probably has a good chance of simply buying the vinyls and applying them at home. In my case, Jory was 10 years old before I needed and found out about the product. While he is very affectionate, he will not hold still long enough for me to apply a full set of the covers. I simply buy them, take Jory and the tips to KAH, and the vet techs trim his nails and put the caps on for what I find to be a very reasonable price. If a stray tip falls off between vet visits, I can manage to sneak up the cat while he’s still long enough to replace it myself. Otherwise, I keep the covers in stock and make an appointment for his KAH visit whenever needed, or about every six weeks. I was very skeptical about the tips staying on for more than a few days when I first tried them, but they do last! That’s one of the reasons I take Jory in for a new set every other month so they do not grow out too long and irritate his paw pads.
Clear covers are available, but I must admit I love the colors. Not only is it easier for me to spot if a tip is missing, it’s so much fun deciding what hue to choose next! I’ve picked green to match his eyes and glittery black or blaze orange if it’s Halloween. The vet techs even seemed to have a blast at his pre-Easter appointment this year. I took in a huge bag of the caps in assorted colors, asked them to use the ones that looked like jelly beans, and to mix the vinyls all up in any way they wanted.
Jory acts like he doesn’t even notice the covers are on, and the scratch-free environment keeps the household happy. Well, except on appointment days when the pup shows signs of dismay that the cat got to ride in the car while she didn’t. But I do make it up to her.
I’ve used this photo as the background for various lines and captions. It receives lots of compliments from those who think it’s a cool shot. So I feel like I must confess, the picture wasn’t planned. I was riding my Sportster with my camera dangling by its strap from the left handlebar. If I saw an image I wanted to capture, I simply scooped it up and shot. In this case, I got lucky. I aimed where I thought my shadow was and clicked.
The result? A different perspective.
The lesson? Always have your camera nearby. You never know what memory you’ll manage to save.