the definition of a beeline
Three days ago I learned how come a beeline is called a beeline. When you're on the end of one, it's like being shot with a bullet that travels at bee speed. You can see it coming, straight for you. If you're me, you think, bugs really, really enjoy being around me, but maybe this one will sheer off at the last second to avoid smacking into me.
I was wrong. It flew smack, straight into the apple of my left cheek. Since I have been bitten by a hornet (actually bitten, not stung. It drew blood, but there was definitely no sting), I thought maybe I'd get bitten again, but no, this time, I got stung. It hurt, but I wasn't going to die or anything. We had stopped at the side of a mountain bike trail and were looking at the map, so spouse was right there. I flapped around very gently and asked if I'd been stung. Why, yes, I had been, he said, while the bee settled on the index finger of my right glove.
Settled is the wrong word. This honeybee, which I could see quite clearly right there on the end of my finger, was attacking the sh*t out of my glove like a small, crazed terrier. I thought they were supposed to die after they stung you, unless it was a bumble bee. It must take longer to die than I thought. This one looked quite energetically enraged.
I went for my tweezers -- all mountain bikers in spine country carry things like tweezers, which required shaking the bee off so I could use both hands. The bee continued its tiny biplane vs. King Kong routine, which flustered me to the point I couldn't find my tweezers in the 5" by 7" pocket in my backpack. I instructed spouse to get the stinger out as best he could with his fingers. Spouse informed me I still had a speck of stinger in my face. I flapped around, trying not to hurt the bee in case it was Africanized so squishing it would call all its friends.
The bee was still biplaning. Spouse told me to go without my pack. I got on my bike and took off, bee in extremely close pursuit. The chase only lasted a minute. When I got up to speed, the bee couldn't keep up, so I kept going another minute or two to make sure it was far enough away that I could stop and get my stuff back from spouse. I didn't see another bee the rest of the ride.
It has been suggested that the bee wanted to scare me off because I got too close to the hive. I was on a well-traveled path, and there was only one bee, so I don't know that there would be a hive there without many more people being aware of it. I do know that this bee completely ignored spouse to the point that he could come close enough to take a stinger out of my face without being hassled, and when I left, he could pick up my pack and get going in the quiet of the desert, not under the attention of a loudly buzzing enemy.
On the first day, I looked pretty normal. On the second day, I looked a little swollen, but it still wasn't that noticeable. Today, the swelling has slipped down to my jaw, and I look like I escaped from the dentist, mid-treatment, with cotton stuffed along my lower gum.
But it got rid of any impending wrinkles from being close to fifty and enjoying the outdoors.
I was wrong. It flew smack, straight into the apple of my left cheek. Since I have been bitten by a hornet (actually bitten, not stung. It drew blood, but there was definitely no sting), I thought maybe I'd get bitten again, but no, this time, I got stung. It hurt, but I wasn't going to die or anything. We had stopped at the side of a mountain bike trail and were looking at the map, so spouse was right there. I flapped around very gently and asked if I'd been stung. Why, yes, I had been, he said, while the bee settled on the index finger of my right glove.
Settled is the wrong word. This honeybee, which I could see quite clearly right there on the end of my finger, was attacking the sh*t out of my glove like a small, crazed terrier. I thought they were supposed to die after they stung you, unless it was a bumble bee. It must take longer to die than I thought. This one looked quite energetically enraged.
I went for my tweezers -- all mountain bikers in spine country carry things like tweezers, which required shaking the bee off so I could use both hands. The bee continued its tiny biplane vs. King Kong routine, which flustered me to the point I couldn't find my tweezers in the 5" by 7" pocket in my backpack. I instructed spouse to get the stinger out as best he could with his fingers. Spouse informed me I still had a speck of stinger in my face. I flapped around, trying not to hurt the bee in case it was Africanized so squishing it would call all its friends.
The bee was still biplaning. Spouse told me to go without my pack. I got on my bike and took off, bee in extremely close pursuit. The chase only lasted a minute. When I got up to speed, the bee couldn't keep up, so I kept going another minute or two to make sure it was far enough away that I could stop and get my stuff back from spouse. I didn't see another bee the rest of the ride.
It has been suggested that the bee wanted to scare me off because I got too close to the hive. I was on a well-traveled path, and there was only one bee, so I don't know that there would be a hive there without many more people being aware of it. I do know that this bee completely ignored spouse to the point that he could come close enough to take a stinger out of my face without being hassled, and when I left, he could pick up my pack and get going in the quiet of the desert, not under the attention of a loudly buzzing enemy.
On the first day, I looked pretty normal. On the second day, I looked a little swollen, but it still wasn't that noticeable. Today, the swelling has slipped down to my jaw, and I look like I escaped from the dentist, mid-treatment, with cotton stuffed along my lower gum.
But it got rid of any impending wrinkles from being close to fifty and enjoying the outdoors.
posted by missmolly at 12:46 PM
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