Blogs

By January Gordon Ornellas

The month prior to our Alaskan vacation, Google began sending me grizzly (no pun intended) bear stories.

These were not warm and fuzzy anecdotes, like Bear and Ranger Share Pot of Honey.

It was more: Hiker Loses Limb After Bear Mauling.

Apparently, Google thinks I have a dark side.*

I shared my concerns with my husband Steve and friends, Lorraine and Nick, as we began our bike ride along the Alaskan coast.

Scanning the forest adjacent to the trail, I asked, “What if we see a bear?” 

“You make yourself big,” Steve said.

“You play dead,” Nick said.

“If it’s a brown bear, play dead,” Steve elaborated. “Black bear, be big.”

“How big?” I asked, sizing up my own 5’3” frame. 

“Just stand tall, wave your arms and make a lot of noise,” Steve added.

“But no high-pitched screaming,” Nick said.

I’m pretty sure if I run into a bear, my voice will be high. 

Also, my pants may be wet.

“Talk to the bear in calm tones,” Nick added.

“What should I talk to the bear about?” I asked.

“Pretty much anything,” Nick answered.

“Just not religion or politics,” I said.

“Also, black bears aren’t always black,” Nick said. “Sometimes they’re brown.”

Whoa, Whoa, WHAT?!

“So how do I know if it's a real black bear, or a black bear that’s identifying as a brown bear?” I asked.

“By the hump.”

“And the ears.”

Steve and Nick conducted a mini bear hump and ear tutorial.

In case you missed the tutorial: Brown bears have smaller ears and a hump on their back.

Also, if their ears go back, they’re about to charge, and you’re in a wee bit of trouble.

“And don’t ever get between a Mama Bear and her cub,” Lorraine added.

Duh.

It was a lot of information, but in summary…

Black bear, big,

Brown bear, dead,

Don’t get between,

Mama and her cub.

(I think I have the makings for an adorable, albeit disturbing, children's book.)

“Either way, the bear probably won’t get all of us,” I said. 

I proceeded to share a recent story of how a Grizzly had attacked four hikers.

Three got away.

I sized up my middle-aged, injury-riddled bunch.

I liked my chances.

For 16 miles, we saw nothing but lush greenery, calm waters and puffy clouds.

On Mile 17, Lorraine and I (who were slightly ahead of our husbands) turned a blind corner and…

Thirty feet** in front of us…

Smack in the middle of the trail…

Dark fur, huge paws, mammoth claws...

GRRRRRRR!

I slammed on my brakes, praying I would stop without flying over the handlebars and catapulting myself into the bear.

What’s the etiquette if you crash into a bear?

Thankfully, I screeched to a halt and jumped off the bike just in time

With trembling hands, I laid my bike on the side of the trail.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes.

My mind started racing…Was it okay to look directly at the bear?

Or like a gorilla, do I avoid eye contact?

Or should I give it a subtle wink, like, Hey, Bear, we’re all good. Nothing to eat here.

My heart pounded in my ears as I stood motionless, taking in this majestic creature.

The bear sat in the middle of the trail, gnawing on greenery.

Was he a vegetarian?

Excellent!

I seemed to recall from Steve’s seminar that Black Bears are vegetarians, but was this a black bear?

Unfortunately, I’m slightly color blind so I couldn’t tell you the exact color.

I could, however, tell you the size...

GINORMOUS!

RUN, RUN, RUN, I screamed to myself.

“Do NOT run!” Lorraine read my mind. “And don’t turn your back on it!”

The bear continued to chomp on shrubbery.

That’s it, spoil your appetite. Good bear.

My heart raced. I turned to Lorraine for words of comfort.

“Do you want to take a picture?” she asked.

No. I want to live.

I edged backwards, forcing myself not to bolt.

Lorraine just stood, enjoying the view.

How could she be so calm?

But then I remembered. 

Lorraine was voted, “Most Calm, Cool and Collected” — Class of 1984. 

(Fellow Trojans, you voted correctly.)

“Can we get out of here?” I whimpered, turning my back on the bear.

(I should have been voted, “Least Likely to Follow Directions.”)

Lorraine nodded and backpedaled, keeping her eye on the bear.

“We’re going to be fine,” Lorraine reassured me. “But remember, if he attacks, lie on your stomach so he can’t get your organs,”

Goodbye Lorraine, it’s been nice knowing you!

Seconds later, Steve and Nick appeared on the path.

I planted myself in the middle of the trail and raised my hand as if I were directing traffic.

“Stop!” I commanded. “There’s a bear!”

WHOOSH!

That was the sound of the two of them riding past me.

“Cool!” Nick said, as pedaled towards the bear.

“Awesome,” Steve added, as he jumped off the bike and began videotaping.***

And the rest is history.

One day, a group of slightly injured, fairly misguided, bear-loving friends went on a bike ride and encountered a bear.

And lived to tell about it.

Take that, Google.

* I do.

** In all honesty, we were probably more like 50 feet away, but a bear story is like a fish story. Ask me in a couple weeks, and I’ll tell you that the bear and I rode off into the sunset together.

***Check out the bear video and post-bear commentary (on my FB page) from the brain trust (Steve and Nick).

— January Gordon Ornellas

January Gordon Ornellas is a comedy writer whose stories include everything from colonoscopies to triathlons (equally torturous). Her article, “Rookie’s Triathlon Lessons,” appeared in the LA Times (June 2019). Two of her other stories, “Gobble, Gobble” and “Almost Taken,” were recently published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Laughter is the Best Medicine (April 2020). She is currently working on a book, Confessions of a Crazy Softball Mom. January also enjoys writing for her blog (midlifebloomer.com), traveling and spending time with her husband and two adult daughters.