Splat!

 

What did the bug say to the windshield when crashing into it?  That’s me all over you!  What did the windshield say to the bug?  Bet you don’t have the guts to do that again!

Do you know what was the last thing that went through the bug’s mind when it hit the windshield? It’s rear end.

 

‘Tis the season!

 

Most of the time I don’t notice . . . don’t notice all of the bug guts smeared across the windshield of my car.  The only times that I do notice are when I am driving into the sun and the light reveals all those hundreds, thousands of bugs that came smashing into my windshield leaving their mark.  That can be frustrating because it makes it difficult to see where I am going.  Frustrated, I always turn wipers with the window washing fluid . . . and just smear those bug innards across the windshield in one glorious arch . . . and, suddenly I can see even less.  That is when I make a mental note that I need to clean my windshield the next time I get gas.  It is such a fleeting thought . . . quickly forgotten, until the next time the sunlight comes streaming through on my commute.

 

Unfortunately . . . others do notice.  They notice and enjoy pointing it out.  Typically, the usual comment is, “Yuck!”  Sometimes it is “gross.”  Whatever the adjective, the message comes across loud and clear . . . CLEAN THE WINDSHIELD!  I hear them.  I get the point.  Yet, at the same time, I cringe.  I cringe because it is an effort in futility.  It is insanity.  Someone once said, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”  That is what cleaning the bug strewn windshield is during the season of the bugs.

 

Bug splats on the windshield are a hassle.  As I have said numerous times, I don’t pay much attention to them unless they make a great big “splatting” sound when they hit the windshield.  Sound effects make them a little more interesting.  Though I do not give much attention to them, others do.  In fact, Mark Hostetler—an urban wildlife ecologist at the University of Florida, was curious about why bugs hit the windshield and why.  He calls himself a “splatologist”.  While researching birds and cities one summer, he broaden his research bugs and their splats on his windshield as he toodled across the country.  The result? That Gunk on Your Car: A Unique Guide to Insects of North America . . . a book about his research as a splatologist.

 

It seems that most splats occur at night.  Most bugs fly a mere four to five feet above the ground.  Headlights are mistaken for moonlight . . . which attracts the bugs and leads to their demise.  Bugs also do their splatting during the daytime.  Often, it is the night-time filled with vehicular light that attracts most of the bugs to their premature deaths on a windshield at 70 miles per hour.

 

With this knowledge the truth is revealed.  Bugs aren’t running into windshields.  Windshields run into bugs.  We drivers are the culprits . . . the guilty party . . . the ones to blame.  It is funny how we say “a bug hit my windshield” when we are the ones going 70 miles per hour.  I bet if you asked the bug’s family, they would describe it differently.  I guess it is a matter of perspective.

 

By the way . . . a splat is a splat, right?  According to Hostetler, you can tell a lot about splats from their color.  During the summer my windshield looks like some sort of psychedelic painting of three colors—red, yellow, and clear.  Yeah, I know, “clear” is not a color . . . but you know what I am talking about . . . the “clear” smear.  The splatologist states that the yellow or cream-colored splats are most likely a moth or a butterfly.  The red?  A splat with a bit of red in it is most likely a female.  Female because they are the biters.  That red is blood . . . somebody’s blood.  The female insect needs the blood for her eggs to develop.  Bet you didn’t know that!

 

Knowledge is great, but it doesn’t remove the bug goo off the windshield. That is the issue.  The “goo” is the substance that functions like blood in insects called hemolymph.  It is often that transparent liquid that quickly dries on the windshield glass.  It is quite sticky, causing the bug that’s smacked to stick and stay there.  It is compounded by the wind generated by the vehicle’s speed that accelerates the drying as well as the heat generated by both the car and sun, baking them on.  Though experts say that this substance isn’t impermeable . . . I’d say it is a kissing cousin to super- or Gorrilla-glue.  A hassle!

 

It is removable . . . but it is quite a process.  It is the process that slays me.

 

The first step, wash the car . . . gets the bulk of the dirt and grime off the car, but not all of it.  Buy some bug spray remove . . . spend the money to remove the honey.  If you haven’t figured it out, I am not a big fan of spending money.  Car wash soap . . . bug removal spray . . . wallet getting thinner.  After the car is washed, spray the bug removal spray all over the bugs clinging to the windshield.  Let it set for a while.  Now, take the cleaning cloth—microfiber is the best (again, more money) and start scrubbing the windshield.  Keep scrubbing.  A little more . . . might have to use an abrasive tool like a razor blade to scrape the bugs off even after soaking them in the removal spray—more $$$$.  Add in a little detailing spray—more $$$$--and the job is almost done.  Then the final touch-up is to get glass cleaner, spray down the windshield, and wipe ‘er on down.  Voila . . . clean windshield.  Just a little time (up to an hour), a little muscle power, and a substantial sum of moola . . . a clean windshield!

 

Five minutes later, driving down the road . . . splat.  Insanity!  Back to square one.

 

Trust me . . . I know.  ‘Tis the season . . . and it drives me buggy!

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Driving down the road on my usual morning commute to the university where I work, a pheasant suddenly flew out of the borrow ditch across the front end of my vehicle.  Scared the bejeebers out of me.  I swerved and luckily avoided hitting the bird with the grill of my card.  After a few choice words . . . of the profane type . . . I proceeded on down the road. 

 

Now you have to understand, pheasants and I have had many encounters through the years.  Most of those encounters resulted in no dead birds and no damage to the cars I was driving.  They were a draw that cost me nothing more than a speeding heartbeat and those profane choice words.  On the other hand, there have been those encounters where there were definite losers.

 

One Sunday morning my youngest son—who was in the early stages of elementary school—and I were driving to another community where I was preaching.  We were on the backroads of Nebraska—lots of dirt and dust.  Suddenly out of the borrow ditch a pheasant flew out of the weeds and was blasted with the grill of the car.  A huge puff and cloud of feathers exploded across the windshield in a spectacular fashion.  The pheasant had exploded on impact.  My son’s eyes grew wide, and he exclaimed, “Cool!  Let’s do it again!”  Luckily there was no damage to the car.  The pheasant, well it was everywhere—especially the front grill of the car.  The pheasant lost that battle.

 

Another time, down the road from where we live now, prior to moving to Montana, several of the kids and I were on a house-hunting expedition in hopes of finding an acceptable and affordable abode for our move to Montana.  As we were heading down the two-lane highway, as usual a pheasant was flushed from the borrow ditch.  Flew across the front of the car, hit the grill with a loud thump, and rolled on over to the other side of the road.  It was deader than a doorknob.  The grill was mangled and busted.  Damaged.  Thankfully a few zip ties held it together until we could get back to Nebraska and replace the grill for several hundreds of dollars.  In this case there were two losers . . . the pheasant was toast and I was out of money to replace the grill.

 

That near-encounter with the pheasant on my morning commute brought back those memories and others.  I guess the pheasant must have triggered some sort of PTSD –Pheasant Trauma Stress Disorder—reaction in me.  It got me thinking about all the times I have hit or nearly hit some sort of critter while driving down the road.  I have had a lot of close encounters with the critter kind while driving.  You don’t live in rural areas without experiencing such encounters on a regular basis.  It is part of the charm of rural living.  And I have had more than my fair share of encounters with critters on the road . . . some I have hit, the majority I have missed.  In all of them there came heart-pounding fear and profane words.

 

The flashbacks were of deer, pheasants, raccoons, opossums, a moose once, bears, bison, all sorts of small birds, dogs, cats, turtles, squirrels and ground squirrels, an antelope . . . some I have hit, most I have avoided.  In all . . .  my blood pressure was raised, and a blue streak was revealed.  Usually that would be it and I go on with life as usual, but something about that brush of near catastrophe got me thinking . . . why in the world did the chicken cross the road?  For that matter, why does any critter cross the road?  It is an age-old question of life.  Inquiring minds want to know.

 

I want to know because over the years those mashups with critters have cost me several thousand dollars in repairs.  Three suicidal deer that found their demise by running into vehicles I was driving . . . thousands in repairs.  A family of raccoons that were crossing the road, stopped, flipped me off, and were smashed cost me a radiator.  Pheasants took out my grills.  And it all took place as they were attempting to cross the road.  Why?  Why were they trying to cross the road!

 

Such encounters of the critter kind are not as uncommon as one might imagine . . . especially in Montana.  According to State Farm (Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.”) research, only West Virginia ranks higher than Montana when it comes to these vehicle and critter encounters.  West Virginia is number one, Montana is number two.  Here are the top seven:

 

West Virgina (1 in 37)

Montana (1 in 47)

Pennsylvania (1 in 51)

South Dakota (1 in 53)

Michigan (1 in 54)

Wisconsin (1 in 57)

Iowa (1 in 58)

 

I would confer with these statistics as I have lived in two of the seven.  Most of my critter mashing has occurred in Montana, Nebraska, and Iowa.  But the fact is, if you drive long enough you will hit something.

 

It is risky business this critter road crossing.  The Institute of Highway Safety’s research states that there are at least 150 deaths and over one billion dollars in vehicle damage occurs on an annual basis from 1.5 million deer collisions.  The Animal People Newsletter research points out that lots of critters get hit by vehicles in the United States:

 

41 million squirrels

26 million cats

22 million rats

19 million opossums

15 million raccoons

6 million dogs

 

Maybe the cats got their chasing the rats across the road . . . maybe not.  Who knows?

 

Here in Montana the Insurance Information Institute gives a similar breakdown of the road crossing demise of the state’s critters:

 

88,440 dogs

42,539 raccoons

19,668 coyotes

15,104 turkeys

12,561 bears

9,212 cows

4964 elk

2,470 moose

2,166 wolves

8,927 hogs

1,750 bobcats

813 turtles

 

Thankfully, I confess, I can state that I have never hit a coyote (though no one in Montana would blame me if I did), turkeys, bear, cows, elk, moose (though I had a near-miss), wolves, hogs, bobcats, or turtle.  It seems that I reserve my all encounters with deer, raccoons, and birds.

 

That is a lot of animals . . . a lot of critters attempting to get across the road.  Despite it all, no one can answer the question of “why did the chicken (or any critter for that matter), cross the road?  At least for me they haven’t given me any acceptable answer . . . and the critters are dead.  Dead critters can’t speak.

 

As you can see . . . it is a BIG question.  A BIG question with as many answers as there are critters made into roadkill.  It has been that way since the first critter attempted to cross the road.  I think that question is asked in the Bible—if not all holy scripture across the gamut of religions.  I think it was one of the questions Moses asked God at the burning bush, but it got left out by the original editors of the Old Testament.  Or maybe it was a question asked by one of Jesus’ disciples to their master—Peter maybe, he was always asking Jesus questions.  Whatever . . . the question has been around forever.

 

Of course, the standard answer to the question is “to get to the other side.”  Duh . . . but, why!  Someone said that this was a fairly clever double entendre since it had to do with the chicken dying and going to the “other side”.  But, why?  Why did the chicken want to go to the other side.  Why does any critter want to cross the road?

 

We will never know.  Dead critters—like dead people—don’t speak.  I just wish like heck they would quit trying to cross the road when I am driving down the road.  For the sake of my vehicles, insurance rate, and wallet.  For their sake too . . . I am sure whatever is luring them across the road is not worth becoming a splatter on the highway.  Unless . . . as I have often wondered . . . they really do have a death wish to pass on over to the “other side”.  Only they and God know for certain.  I just wish someone would let me in on the punchline.