One game we used to play while we were on road trips in Europe was "Stump the Driver." The rules went like this: the contestant (usually me, the driver, although that could be altered) had to name every car make and model he saw, with no bonus points for the year the vehicle was built. These would be all the cars on our side of the road, the cars that we would pass or that would pass us, with motorcycles, trucks, and busses being outside of the competition.
So here we go...BMW, 5 series. Mercedes, C-Class. VW Tiguan. Audi Q5. Renault, Skoda, etc. until the driver or the passenger was stumped. Bash always won these. From an early age, he had hawkeyes combined with an interest in automobiles that made him a slamdunk for the game. For a while, we used to play the game in the U.S., until the game shut itself down, owing largely to old age and the monotony of the long. road trips we would face at times.
Then came the Roadkill game. Sick, I know. But in a country so automobile heavy, we felt the novelty of naming the Chevys, the Fords, and the Toyotas wear off quickly. It started with a deer we almost ran into on our second day in town. We were cruising through the gorgeous Western Carolina countryside when a deer came out of nowhere. This deer was clearly on a mission, so there would be no patented freezing, and certainly no headlights to shine at the deer in broad daylight. It all happened so quickly. In one split second, the deer was in front of my bumper, which barely missed it. Unfortunately for the deer, a car coming from the opposite direction caught it flush in the mid-section so that the last thing I saw was a dozen Bambi parts flying in different directions. This was kind of like Charlie Brown getting lit up by one of the batted balls he had just pitched and watching all of his clothes scatter in all directions.
This is not something you ever want to teach your kids, but in Western Carolina, they will learn by themselves in due time. Dad, they'll say, there are no possums around here. Sigh, I guess we'll have to learn this the hard way. We might just see one today. Here we go, let's drive to Asheville. Name that roadkill. Deer. Another deer. Raccoon. Possum. Cat. Squirrel. I think we quit playing that game after one day, we just couldn't bear straining our necks to inspect all of the roadkill, of which there were plenty.
During autumn, all of the leaves and nuts fall from the trees, which means there's a record number of squirrels on the ground trying to stock up for the leaner months ahead. Two-thirds of all roadkills I see these days are squirrels. In my entire driving career spanning three decades, I have killed only one animal with my vehicle...a squirrel, not too far from my home. Usually, my eyesight is exceptional so that I can react to any sideshows occurring away from the road. There have been many near misses, including this year with the deer and a dozen more squirrels.
According to the North Carolina Department of Transportation, roadkills have been on a steady rise over the past four years, with the exception of the year 2020. Part of that is due to the growth in population in North Carolina, which comes as no surprise. More people means more development, which, by default, means more cars. If there ever was any silver lining to a pandemic, then the fact that people, often confined to their homes, drove less in 2020, which saw a sharp decrease in roadkills...and injuries caused to humans.
Adding a more grotesque twist to the topic, you can only harvest roadkill (the legal name for roadkill is "wildlife salvage") in the state of North Carolina if they are small animals. For bigger or even endangered species, you will need a permit from the Department of Natural Resources. If anybody fails to harvest any roadkill, it is up to the Department of Transportation to remove any remains.
Make no mistake, I will never grow weary of driving through Western Carolina. Just know that one untimely animal jumping in front of your car can rapidly change your outlook on wildlife. Knock on wood, or hood.
0 comments