No, madame, you smell; I stink.

I kicked a skunk this morning.

(I didn’t mean to).

It was very foggy, and at 5:30am very dark when I started out on my bike. My glasses fogged up fairly quickly, and refogged almost as soon as I wiped them clean. I go through Hope Ranch (a well known skunk hangout), and was heading down Roble toward the creek — by day, this is a pleasant stretch, live oaks overhead, a few wildflowers by the roadside, leading down to a tiny little stream. This morning visibility was nil.

Suddenly there was a skunk trundling on in front of me. Before I had time to react, something struck my foot. And then it was over. I held my breath for as long as I could, but there’s a limit to that. When I did breath, I didn’t smell anything, and was greatly relieved.

But when I came to a stop sign… I did smell skunk.

At the first stop sign, I hoped… maybe… there’d been a skunk around it… but at the next stop sign the same scent arose, and I knew my foot (at least) had been skunked.

When I reached the meeting point for the workout, I got off the bike and crouched down. Yup, the smell was pretty strong. So I hung back from everyone else, and went off and warmed up by myself.

A half an hour later I did not smell anything and began to hope that the scent had faded. No one complained when I ran with my group.

But when I got back to my bike several hours later I found the the scent was there, not on my shoe.

Looking back, I wonder why I was convinced the scent would be on me rather than on the bike… perhaps I just fear the worst.

By noon the scent has faded from the bike too. (Thank goodness)

Up the airy mountains
Down the rushy Glen,
We dare not go a-biking
For fear of little skunks.


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