FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Summer Cycle

Let me tell you about me and Mary, and how we spent the summer.

It was supposed to be the adventure of a lifetime - an entire summer spent cycling from coast-to-coast. We were in love, or so we thought. We were both from Toronto, both studying sociology at York University there, and both cycling enthusiasts. You would think that that was enough for a strong relationship, but based on how things turned out, I guess not. And we were both skunks, of course.

No I'm not a speciesist but like attracts like, you know? Not that we were totally alike. I'm a pretty big guy, as you can see, and fairly outgoing. Mary was small, petite really, and shy. The York campus is spread out and not well lit and it's dangerous for lone females so she relied on me to protect her. We went everywhere together. I even moved into the same neighbourhood so we could take the same bus back and forth in the winter. Spring and fall we biked to and from the campus together. It was always my dream to cycle across the continent, and last summer Mary agreed to join me on my trek, and so it became our adventure.

Summer is the only time that you can cross Canada by bike, and even then it can be chilly in June. Starting in the west is harder, what with the steep climb up from Vancouver and the cold nights in the mountains, but once we crossed the Rockies we would be going downhill and have the prevailing wind at our backs. We trained indoors all winter to prepare ourselves, bought the best gear and planned our route meticulously. In mid-June we flew out to Vancouver, dipped our tails in the waters of the Pacific Ocean and set out for Halifax.

Things went well at first. It was hard, sure, but when we made camp at night we rubbed each others', legs to ease the muscles and then made slow, tender love inside our little tent. We did the latter on a thick folded towel that absorbed the fluids that gushed out of her when she came, which she did most nights. No, I don't mind talking about our intimate moments. We're all guys here, right? And I promised that I would tell you everything. When we were done we would take a shower, if there as one in the campsite, or sponge ourselves clean over a basin of cold water if there wasn't. Then we would rinse that sodden towel and hang it out to dry overnight.

It was outside Lake Louise where things started to go bad. We had just crossed the continental divide and had celebrated by camping in an isolated spot and making love long into the night. I told her to rinse the towel and hang it far from the tent before I dozed off, I'm sure I did, but she claimed that if I did she did not hear me.

The scent of the love-soaked towel attracted a bear, one of those nocturnal hobos that lurk near tourist traps and campsites looking for a handout. They mainly just steal food and any gear that isn't locked down from the campsites, but they have also been known to attack a lone female if they get the chance. I've heard that the scent of menstruation drives them wild, and I guess female ejaculate would have the same effect. No I don't know that for a fact; I'm study sociology, not biology.

This bear, maddened by the smell of her on the towel I suppose, slashed into the side of our tent in a rage. He got tangled in the material and we got away on our bikes, where our packs were already ready for the next day's ride, but we lost all of our camping gear. We had to replace it in town, and that was very expensive because Lake Louise caters to the high-end of the tourist trade. We left the towel behind too.

We argued over who should pay. I felt that she should since it was her fault; she thought I should since it was my stuff and I should have thought of getting it insured.

The summer continued to be glorious, but things went downhill from there, and I'm not talking just about the road. Resentment set in between us. She refused to acknowledge that it was her fault and on top of that she claimed that I was too controlling. Ha! Me, controlling? We argued more and made love less as we crossed the golden prairies, and we had no need for a towel anymore. She seemed to withdraw into herself, the way some females do, you know? We rode in ever longer periods of silence as we entered Northern Ontario. We followed the northern route, staying off the crowded highways that follow the Great Lakes and the busy Toronto-Montreal corridor, crossing into West Quebec at the end of July.

I thought that we were getting along better as we continued on through the great, quiet boreal forest, but then he came along.

His name was Peepee or Bebe or something like that and he was also biking across the country. He had left a week after we did but he caught up to us near Mount Tremblant. He wasn't trying to break the record or anything, but he was alone and, I have to admit, in pretty good shape. He claimed that he had ridden in the Tour de France once. He was a French skunk with a ten-thousand dollar bike and a tight yellow Lycra cycling suit. He rode with us the rest of the day, mostly with Mary, chattering away a mile a minute in an outrageous French accent. He invited himself into our camp when we stopped for the day.

Mary seemed to be quite taken with him, and he with her. They went for a walk by the nearby river while I cooked our dinner. They did not come back until it was dark. I could not see anything different about her in the dim light cast by the fire, but I could smell that scent on her, the scent that I had not smelled since that night outside Lake Louise, the scent that had attracted the bear. I knew what they had been doing.

That night in our tent I tried to make love to her but she pushed me away. She told me that she was going to continue her adventure with Poopoo, whoever, if he would have her. I told her that she was a fool and went to sit by the dying fire. I don't know what time it was when I crawled back into our sleeping bag, but it was late, and Mary was sound asleep.

Pipi was gone by the time we got up. No, I have no idea what happened to him. Why would you think something had happened to him? Oh, really? Pepé you say his name was? How do you know that? You found his body and his gear in the river? Strangled with his bike chain, rocks stuffed in his cycling suit and left to drown you say? No, how would I know who did it? I told you that already. Maybe a bear got him. He would have had that scent on him, and those bears don't just go after females, you know. Was he, uh ... never mind.

That light is pretty harsh. Would you mind turning it down or pointing it in another direction? It's fixed in place? Okay, just thought that I'd ask. Where were we?

After, what did you say his name was, Poppy? After he disappeared I managed to convince Mary to continue on to Halifax with me. I was determined to finish our adventure as we had started it, together. She was melancholy and did not want to share the tent with me at first, but we were back in bear country and I had to keep an eye on her, in case she wandered off and got hurt, you know, so I insisted that she stay inside after we made camp. I also changed the route to avoid the congested bike trails because I did not want another guy to come along, seduce her and dump her like Popo had; that would just break her heart. Yes, I was being protective. Wouldn't you?

No, things never did get back the way they were, but I tried, God knows I tried. She would lie on her stomach inside our big double sleeping bag and pretend to be asleep when I came in for the night, but I could tell that she was awake. I just lay on top of her and pushed her tail aside to take her. I could tell that she wanted me to love her, even though she put on a show of resisting. She was dry at first but softened up as I went along, so that proves that she really wanted it, doesn't it? No, we didn't need the towel. Why bring that up now?

Anyway, we made it to Halifax right on schedule at the end of August despite the detours. We had planned to end our ride at the docks downtown but I steered us away from the city to an isolated spot on the coast where we could spend our last night camping together, alone.

I could sense that she was still confused about our relationship by the way she was moping about the campsite. I think she wanted to leave right then but the spot I had chosen was off the main road and it was already dark, so it wouldn't have been safe for a small female like her. But just to show her that I was not going to stop her from leaving if that's what she wanted I gave her back her wallet and her airplane ticket. What? Oh, did I forget to mention that I had taken them when that other guy showed up? For safe keeping, you know? If I hadn't he probably would have taken her ID and credit cards with him and sold them to identity thieves, I bet. That is, if the bears had not gotten to him first. Sure it was bears, who else? Really? I resent that implication.

Where was I? Oh, yes. We spent that last night together, but she was gone in the morning. She must have left before dawn, just like Pico or whatever his name was had. I was sad because she left before I had the chance to say goodbye and good luck. I rode into Halifax but I didn't see her on the road. I didn't want to sit beside her in an awkward silence for three hours on the flight to Toronto either so I threw my ticket away and booked myself on the train. I got back to Toronto just in time for the start of the fall semester. She did not show at our usual meeting spot for the ride to the campus, and when I didn't see her around in the following weeks I just assumed that she had changed programs because she was too embarrassed to face me. I didn't find out that she had disappeared until her family called me looking or her.

Now you tell me that she never checked onto her flight and hasn't contacted any of her other friends or family. Yes, I know it looks suspicious but I really can't add anything to what I've told you already. No, I have no idea what happened to her or her bike .... unless .... they have bears in Nov Scotia, don't they?