Yes, it's that time of the year again—time for deer to traverse woods and farmlands while playing their instinctive game of Frogger. Despite dedicated efforts by mankind to thin their herds, wild deer populations appear to be on the increase. BritBox wishes no harm to these gentle creatures, and venison is low on BritBox's list of protein sources; it would just be great if these roaming ruminants would simply look both ways before crossing the street. Please.
BritBox likes to commute with The Sporty Red Car on almost any clear, salt-less day, and will probably average about three or four hundred miles per month until Spring, when the top goes down and the road mileage goes up. The twenty-eight mile trek to The Day Gig is best enjoyed by taking the wandering, rolling rural roads found here in southwestern Ohio. Meadowlarks, red-winged blackbirds, hawks, quail, squirrels, cats, and dogs seem to possess the requisite road savvy. But deer? BritBox has witnessed a depressing number of deer hits and near-misses over the past few years.
Here's a recent example: BritBox was busting ass down Lutheran Church Road earlier this week, late as usual. The little round lady who walks her four small dogs (each one a different breed) every morning was walking opposite BritBox's direction on the left-hand shoulder—she should know better than to use that side of the road! BritBox lifted slightly on the accelerator and waved to her, a jaunty little wave, glancing in the door mirror while passing by to see if she waved back. She did not. BritBox looked straight ahead again, just in time to nearly clip the tail of a full grown doe crossing from the right at a very high rate of speed. No time for brakes or avoidance: it was that quick. The doe had sprung out from the tree line that crowded this road, and she was trying to catch up with the rest of her small herd that could now be seen far off in the field to the left.
It's not hard to imagine the kind of damage that a two hundred pound animal could do in a collision with a twenty-two hundred pound car at over fifty miles per hour. If The Favorite TR250 had not slowed for the Dog-Walking Lady, the doe would have likely run full speed into the passenger-side door. If BritBox had gone slightly faster, the roadster would have hit the deer full-on instead of just grazing the white of its tail.
British sports car were made to drive, and deer were made to run. It is an unfortunate reality that geometry, physics, time, and fate will conspire to occasionally kill innocent herbivores and destroy recently restored sheet metal. This conspiracy is a reminder that there is more to motoring than wind in the hair, bump-oversteer, heel-and-toeing, and the sweet smell of incomplete combustion.
The MG guys say it best:
"Safety, Fast"
BritBox likes to commute with The Sporty Red Car on almost any clear, salt-less day, and will probably average about three or four hundred miles per month until Spring, when the top goes down and the road mileage goes up. The twenty-eight mile trek to The Day Gig is best enjoyed by taking the wandering, rolling rural roads found here in southwestern Ohio. Meadowlarks, red-winged blackbirds, hawks, quail, squirrels, cats, and dogs seem to possess the requisite road savvy. But deer? BritBox has witnessed a depressing number of deer hits and near-misses over the past few years.
Here's a recent example: BritBox was busting ass down Lutheran Church Road earlier this week, late as usual. The little round lady who walks her four small dogs (each one a different breed) every morning was walking opposite BritBox's direction on the left-hand shoulder—she should know better than to use that side of the road! BritBox lifted slightly on the accelerator and waved to her, a jaunty little wave, glancing in the door mirror while passing by to see if she waved back. She did not. BritBox looked straight ahead again, just in time to nearly clip the tail of a full grown doe crossing from the right at a very high rate of speed. No time for brakes or avoidance: it was that quick. The doe had sprung out from the tree line that crowded this road, and she was trying to catch up with the rest of her small herd that could now be seen far off in the field to the left.
It's not hard to imagine the kind of damage that a two hundred pound animal could do in a collision with a twenty-two hundred pound car at over fifty miles per hour. If The Favorite TR250 had not slowed for the Dog-Walking Lady, the doe would have likely run full speed into the passenger-side door. If BritBox had gone slightly faster, the roadster would have hit the deer full-on instead of just grazing the white of its tail.
British sports car were made to drive, and deer were made to run. It is an unfortunate reality that geometry, physics, time, and fate will conspire to occasionally kill innocent herbivores and destroy recently restored sheet metal. This conspiracy is a reminder that there is more to motoring than wind in the hair, bump-oversteer, heel-and-toeing, and the sweet smell of incomplete combustion.
The MG guys say it best:
"Safety, Fast"
