The Ballad of Big Piles’ BASH Crash

The legendary event as faithfully recounted by Pig Fucker

This tail begins on Old Farm Road, in Amherst, Massachusetts.  A well known jungle region located on the eastern cusp of the Berkshires, where a well driven westerly wind carries hints of bergamont and cow poop.

A disorderly bunch of drunks gathered, bearing two wheeled conveyances and plenty of sunscreen.  Big Piles, the hero of our tale, looked snappy aboard his orange and yellow Schwinn dressed in matching pajamas and bright red crocs, fitted to snap into his pedals.  For some inexplicable reason, he has chosen to outfit himself with a telescope, a stuffed beaver and a keg.

The pack set off into the gathering dusk.

Details get murky, but thanks to several slurred second and third hand reports, our intrepid investigators were able to collect several facts, and from that, completely fabrica-I mean-piece together exactly what may or may not have occurred on that fateful night.

It involved a baby Eagle.  And maybe a cougar.

Our hero, Big Piles was steadily putting distance between himself and the bi-pedaled pack, pulling hearty gulps of mircobrew from the keg tap mounted to his helmet, when he heard the soft cries of a baby Eagle, who had fallen from his nest in the dense forest.  He quickly pulled up short, and alit from his trusty ride, and sloshed through the primordial ooze until he discovered the stricken infant.

At almost the exact moment, he heard a low rumble coming from the direction of a low brown bush to his left.  This rumble increased in volume and scope and became a full out heart stopping, shit your shorts roar.

The bush was not in fact, a bush, but in fact a cougar.  A hungry cougar whose planned entree of Pan Fried Baby Eagle in Ginger Sauce was interrupted by this bespectacled biker.

It was time for action.

The nest was simply 40 feet aloft, directly above the rock where perched the eaglet.  From the tool box mounted to the rear fender of his bike, Big Piles grabbed a roll of duct tape.  He quickly lashed the baby to his helmet, and began his ascent.  Hampered only by the inability of the crocs to grip the sharp bark of the tree, and the weight of the keg that was lashed to his back.

The cougar leapt and snarled, just out of reach.  As the cougar began to climb the tree after Big Piles, there was a flash of feather and sharp talon.  It was the mother Eagle!  She had returned from a hunt just in time to scare the cougar off with some well aimed spit balls.

The mother Eagle wasted no time in grabbing up her baby in her claws, and took off, making for her nest.

The trouble was, the duct tape, was initially quite well secured to both baby Eagle and bike helmet, and the helmet was in turn, quite secured to Big Piles’ head.  Although she pulled and tugged, Big Piles, though willing to release his charge to the care of its Mother, was reluctant to yield his hold on said tree, and his neck was unwilling to release its hold on his head.  Thinking that he could rip the duct tape, Big Piles let go of the tree.

That was all the Mother Eagle needed.  The crocs on his feet gave up their hold and Big Piles was quite forced to follow the mother Eagle, up, up up until they were quite far up in the air.  It was about this time that Big Piles ceased his initial attempts to remove the duct tape holding the baby to his helmet, and following that thinking through – to his head, neck, and so forth.

But, too late.

The sound duct tape makes as it slowly rips free is disheartening.  All the more so when one is aware that it provides the only lifeline one has when suspended by a mother Eagle, some 60 feet of the jungle floor.

Luckily for Big Piles, they were directly above the nest.  He dropped safely into it, keg and all.

Some time passes here.  Stories conflict, but it appears the mother eagle wasn’t all that good at math, and couldn’t recall if she had one chick or two.  It was all good to Big Piles, as he enjoyed the nightly baths, drinking his beer and sharing whatever raw kill (chipmunks, squirrel, stray cats) the mother eagle brought back with his new brother.

It was a bucolic life right up until the day, momma decided that these two freeloaders needed to earn their keep and learn to fly.  She squacked for their attention, and without much notice, she nosed them right out of the nest.

Now the baby eagle, being a baby eagle was able to simple start flapping his wings to achieve flight.  Big Piles, not having wings, was unable to do so.  However, this did not stop him from waving his arms madly as he achieved a graceful stage of plummet.

When he hit the rock under the nest, he broke his T4 vertebrae and a couple ribs.

The cougar, who by then had became a vegan, shared some percocet and morphine with Big Piles and dragged him to the edge of the jungle, where he was found by two doe eyed altruistic nursing students who took him in.

You know, those sponge baths are better than momma eagles spit shines….

Reporting the truth,

Pig “Safety Third!” Fucker