Get off the track, Quack...

Sometimes, strange things happen in life, and each person's number gets picked to deal with the strangeness. There's no rhyme or reason to it - it just happens that way. Some of the strangeness I have encountered in my days is responsible for some of my better moments, and some is responsible for my worst moments - but I better not follow that thought too far, lest this be confused with a Dickensian novel. And I am no Dickens.

Among the strange things I have encountered, however, is that I have once played the part of a duck on stage. No - this was not some silly elementary school production of 'The Farmer in the Dell' or something - that would not be called strange, merely child-like. No, this was in a college production, where they needed ducks. Rather than try and work with live creatures, they had the Three Ducks: Autistic Duck, Retarded Duck (you could still use that word in those days), and Angry Duck. I was Angry Duck. They gave us our choice of feather dusters to use as our "wings," (I took the matching yellow ones - the others got pink and blue)and crouching, we made duck noises and did various things. I caused "duck fights" which involve a lot of quacking and flapping of featherduster-wings.

But what is the point of this?? Well, my substantial experience in duckhood has thus prepared me for the latest and greatest of strange moments of the Fat Kid. I went down to the track last night to rip off some miles before the races started, and then hang out and watch some friends race. Good stuff, always fun. Props to the Steel City Endurance squad, by the way (www.steelcityendurance.com). So there I am, getting ready to watch the races, and ACA guru-of-many-things Jack looks at me and says, "Bill, could you possibly go get a broom or something and try and get those two ducks down there off the track? I think they're trying to get out, but they can't seem to find their way."

How does one respond to this strange twist of silliness? Clearly, the ducks NEED to be removed - racing with ducks, while it may sound like fun...it pretty much makes a crazy, dangerous sport even moreso. Cyclists are crazy, yes, but there's a line between "crazy" and "just plain nuts" that even cyclists won't cross. So I look at Jack, and realize what he's asking me to do. "Jack," I said, "Are you asking me to herd ducks?" Jack responds with, "well, yeah, I guess I am." It seems that participating in a play in which I played a duck back in Spetember, 1995, carries with it an innate skill which shows through to this day as being "the guy who can herd ducks." Of course, I say yes, but not without the prerequisite "I am more powerful than herding ducks" comment, and telling Jack that he owes me for this one.

Grabbing the broom, I head down to where these two waddling waterfowl have set their camp, having no clue what the heck I'm going to do should the ducks decide they REALLY want to stay right where they are. I have never actually fought a duck before - and I cannot tell the attack ducks from the non-attack ducks. But I know there are attack geese, so I'm prepping for the worst, just in case. I'm also prepping for Fred Jordan ( http://www.fjordanphoto.com/blog/)to be taking photos of this....I really hope he didn't get any, but you never can tell about these things. I cautiously approach these two creatures, and I realize something else: One is male, one female, and they are just out for an evening waddle after a marvelous algae dinner. I don't know if they got a sitter for the ducklings or not - we didn't chat much. But I get to about 10 feet from the critters...mind you, it should be noted that people have been within THREE FEET of them whizzing by on bikes and the ducks HAVE NOT FLINCHED...But a guy on foot with a broom??? Suddenly, they rediscover their wings, and fly 30 feet away, off the track and into the surrounding habitat. Like it was no big deal.

And while I am no Dickens, Paul Simon wrote the following lyrics:

You just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan
You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free

I will add a line:
"Get off the track, quack!"

Thanks for reading.

The Fat Kid