Ear to the ground:
"I think the newest reality show should be 'Dancing with the Sharks.'"
– One local's solution to the long-ago exhausted genre of reality TV
Hickcox was descending from the Mike's-Cuchillo junction, riding in the "traditional" direction, when she hit the final hairpin before the trail climbs back up a gully to regain the ridge.
"I was a little out of control coming out of that turn and hit a scrub oak off to the side of the trail," she said.
From here, things are a little hazy, but Hickcox recalls some loud rustling followed by a gutteral hissing. "I felt like I had woken something up, it sounded like a housecat on steroids," she said.
While her rational mind tried to reason that it was a rather large raccoon she had stumbled upon, her primal side told her: mountain lion. "I didn’t actually see it face to face, but I knew it was lightish brown, hissing and something large," she said.
After a cacophony of broken branches and scrub brush, both parties retreated to regain their composure at a safe distance. A somewhat rattled Hickcox amazingly recalled her human-lion encounter protocol. "I stood there and tried to give it space, with my bike between me and the bush to make me look bigger and not like a shaking chihuahua," said Hickcox, 5'2" on a good day.
For the next several agonizing minutes, Hickcox stood by the trail, waiting for fellow riders to come by, recalling ominously, how quiet it had been on her way out. "I remembered noticing how quiet it was and wondering ‘Where is everybody?” There was nobody out there.”
Eventually, two men came by and Hickcox tagged along with them. “I figured safety in numbers, but I was so terrified, I couldn't physically get back on my bike and ride even if I tried," she said.
Once in company, she said her “flight” response kicked into high gear. "I rode like an adrenaline-filled bat out of hell" she said. “One of the guys stopped for his friend and I just kept riding ... which probably wasn’t very nice.”
Alas, all's well that ends well for Hickcox, who recently returned to Horse Gulch for a "mercifully uneventful" ride. Nevertheless, she chalks up her "hissing bush" as a not so gentle wake-up call. "It's a little bit of a reality check that they're out there and to be aware and use common sense. Any animal can be dangerous when startled," she said. "It kills me, because I know they belong here as much as we do."
As for the cat, we can only hope it has relocated to another bush, with more deer traffic than human.
"I think the newest reality show should be 'Dancing with the Sharks.'"
– One local's solution to the long-ago exhausted genre of reality TV
Close call on Cuchillo
When Kris Hickcox headed out for a quick mountain bike ride on the evening of Oct. 4, she got a little more than she bargained for.
When Kris Hickcox headed out for a quick mountain bike ride on the evening of Oct. 4, she got a little more than she bargained for.
Hickcox was descending from the Mike's-Cuchillo junction, riding in the "traditional" direction, when she hit the final hairpin before the trail climbs back up a gully to regain the ridge.
"I was a little out of control coming out of that turn and hit a scrub oak off to the side of the trail," she said.
From here, things are a little hazy, but Hickcox recalls some loud rustling followed by a gutteral hissing. "I felt like I had woken something up, it sounded like a housecat on steroids," she said.
While her rational mind tried to reason that it was a rather large raccoon she had stumbled upon, her primal side told her: mountain lion. "I didn’t actually see it face to face, but I knew it was lightish brown, hissing and something large," she said.
After a cacophony of broken branches and scrub brush, both parties retreated to regain their composure at a safe distance. A somewhat rattled Hickcox amazingly recalled her human-lion encounter protocol. "I stood there and tried to give it space, with my bike between me and the bush to make me look bigger and not like a shaking chihuahua," said Hickcox, 5'2" on a good day.
For the next several agonizing minutes, Hickcox stood by the trail, waiting for fellow riders to come by, recalling ominously, how quiet it had been on her way out. "I remembered noticing how quiet it was and wondering ‘Where is everybody?” There was nobody out there.”
Eventually, two men came by and Hickcox tagged along with them. “I figured safety in numbers, but I was so terrified, I couldn't physically get back on my bike and ride even if I tried," she said.
Once in company, she said her “flight” response kicked into high gear. "I rode like an adrenaline-filled bat out of hell" she said. “One of the guys stopped for his friend and I just kept riding ... which probably wasn’t very nice.”
Alas, all's well that ends well for Hickcox, who recently returned to Horse Gulch for a "mercifully uneventful" ride. Nevertheless, she chalks up her "hissing bush" as a not so gentle wake-up call. "It's a little bit of a reality check that they're out there and to be aware and use common sense. Any animal can be dangerous when startled," she said. "It kills me, because I know they belong here as much as we do."
As for the cat, we can only hope it has relocated to another bush, with more deer traffic than human.
In this week's issue...
- January 25, 2024
- Bagging it
State plastic bag ban is in full effect, but enforcement varies
- January 26, 2024
- Paper chase
The Sneer is back – and no we’re not talking about Billy Idol’s comeback tour.
- January 11, 2024
- High and dry
New state climate report projects continued warming, declining streamflows