The Snake Ride
We first noticed the dead snake in the Fall.
The long and shiny reptile was on the sidewalk, just off a busy arterial road. We were using this little section of sidewalk to access a bike path that took us to an outdoor patio. A place from where we stage easy rides. The weather was warm and the unfortunate snake had been recently killed.
How? Perhaps hit by an automobile and crawled off the roadway. The animal’s corpse was intact. In fact at first glance seemed very alive.
We commented about the misfortune of the snake and the dangers of human development to wildlife. The area we were crossing was a former horse farm. A coffee shop and other small strip mall tenants had replaced all but a tiny bit of undeveloped green space. And that was changing.
How or why the snake had been chased from the relative safety of the remains of the farm can only be guessed, but it was inevitable. That ground was being broken as well.
We assumed that the next time we came by the snake would be gone. With hawks, turkey vultures, and even late night coyotes we knew that the black snake would become food. Circle of life.
We were wrong.
Over the next few weeks, we used the cut-through regularly. The snake was still there each time.
At some point someone or some predator moved the snake a few feet into the grass. Grass that is regularly maintained by a hired work crew of standing mowers and blowers. We assumed that a groundskeeper would be tasked with removal. Luring new retail to a tidy, if not sterile, environment.
Most of these passings were during the brief opening before the Omicron variant made us rethink our organized rides. One or two of our friends were shown the snake. Not all were as enthusiastic. Snakes, alive or dead, give some people anxiety.
With winter and the uptick in the virus we stopped going to the outdoor patio. Then there was some snow fall, and of course, property maintenance crews working.
I thought about the snake and so on occasion we would finish our rides using the small sidewalk to return home. It was there each time.
I contemplated the snake. I was curious why over weeks (now months) the snake’s body still remained. Visible to walkers, grounds keepers, cyclists, and scavengers. Was it a casual disregard or superstition of humans? Is there some toxicity in black snakes that make them inedible. I thought of mortality. I thought of dignity. I thought of nature.
In late February three of us from our small bubble of pandemic friends headed out for a long ride. These three hour plus base mile rides are my favorites. Good conversation and easy but essential training.
The route took us through a variety of roads. Some highly developed and suburbanized, some more country with remaining green fields and a hint of woodland.
Our finish took us to the bike path that led to the small sidewalk. The snake was still there. After months.
Mortality. Dignity. Nature. Humans. It wasn’t exactly a Hamlet moment, but we stopped and looked close. The snake appeared nearly the same as the first time we noticed it. Shiny black skin.
I’ve never been squeamish about reptiles and amphibians. As a kid I picked up a variety creatures and showed them to friends and relatives. Not all were as enthusiastic.
I knew at this moment what I was going to do.
In some way the snake had partially beaten the encroachment of suburbia. There was a power in a former living creature that could not be moved despite the bustle and busy of humanity.
I’m a spiritual atheist. I don’t believe in afterlives, but I do believe in connections to our larger worlds and universe. The snake and I were connected. The snake was going home with me. How does one honor a dead black snake? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure we should.