A Bug's Eye View
"Whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire", driven mad by the constant pursuit.” Shakespeare’s King Lear.
‘Ah! Hah! Again the prick, the stab of gadfly-sting! O earth, earth, hide, the hollow shape—Argus—that evil thing—the hundred-eyed." Wm Shakespeare.
I initially heard about "The Wolf” from an acquaintance that occasionally follows my Instagram account (aka Call me Tabanidae-I’ll wreck your day). Actually, back in our larva and pupa days (those were simpler times), she was a good friend of mine. She was buoyant, full of life’s possibilities. Unfortunately, as we matured into adulthood, grew our wings, she sorta fell off the deep end, becoming obsessed with vampires and more recently the mythic role our Diptera ancestors played in the infinite torment of Zeus’s mistress, Io. [Worthy of note, sadly, Io ultimately was turned into a heifer.] I’m no Freud, but I think it was the development of her “female parts,” especially those blade-like mandibles that (coupled with too many hours scrolling through VampireFreaks.com) led her to become obsessed with all things Goth. I worried that she was depressed.
In any event, lately, my malevolent friend (she now identifies as a pseudo-sadist, Kafkaesque, hillbilly insect with significant unresolved anger issues), DMed me to please alert my many e-friend followers of a great collective opportunity to cause great pain and suffering (as well as to provide blood sustenance to any resulting progeny) upon a large group of backcountry cyclists gathering near the small hamlet of Finland, Minnesota. Of course as a male, I reminded her that while we all love a good chase, only the feminine folk get to actually feed on the cyclists. Us mealy mouthed males have to be content with nonlethal sorties with the sole aim of harassment. It's still a lot of fun, though. In any event, I agreed to pass along the time and place.
The Wolf, sponsored by Heck of the North, is a three day, mostly gravel, stage race that starts near the tiny hamlet of Finland and ends back at the start three days later. On Day #1 the cyclists pedal to Ely, Day #2 they pedal in an easterly fashion to the shores of Lake Superior and the picturesque town of Grand Marais, and on Day #3 back to the start. My friend estimated that the whole route encompasses about 260 miles, so she asked me to make sure and announce that it would be a multiday affair. We could all camp out together and then follow the exact schedule as that of the cyclists.
I am happy to report that we had an amazing turnout. Hundreds, if not thousands of deer flies showed up and it was a total blast! Good friends meeting up, new friendships forged, itchy wounds inflicted, blood sucked. In short, three days of nonstop bloodlust and harassment. The younger, more fit, more hematophagous types drafted off the fast folks at the front and reported great results. Those flying sorties in the front had to be fit as those cyclists are seriously fast. While the rest of us were content to feed off and/or harass the slower ones at the back of the pack.
Along with about one hundred others (the slowest of the swarm), I chose a rather pathetic old codger that was dressed in baggy shorts, a dark blue, loose fitting shirt, riding a tank of a bike. He was a real hard-core sweater. I think the medical term is Hyperhidrosis. Anyway, the perfect mark as this guy was slow, took lots of breaks, and would really freak out when one of the gals was able to give him a good stabbing. It became a contest to see who could get the loudest scream out of him. It was so fun! My old friend (mentioned above) executed a beautiful strike into the old guy’s armpit on Day One! It sent him into a full on tailspin, he just barely was able to stay on his bike. Another gal got him real good on his calf at an aid station on Day Two. It hurt him so bad that he spilled his coke all over himself. It was a riot. I laughed so hard that my compound eyes were filled with tears of joy. I remember wishing that I could bite him as the girls were having such fun, but then I remembered that the Good Lord gave me “weak, sponge-like mouthparts.” So sad. I need to work through this. I'll admit that sometimes I feel like I’m just not good enough and find myself wishing I was some kind of other insect, like a Brown Recluse spider. Those guys can do real damage! More on this at a later date.
Me and the rest of the guys had to be content to fly ramming missions into his helmet and sunglasses, which was fun, but it just wasn’t the same. Still, seeing my old friend so happy and carefree made it all worthwhile. The transformation was so apparent, she was happy, loving life, doing what she was meant to do. For example, it was so gratifying to see the frazzled cyclist still frantically itching his festering armpit even during the last couple hours of Day Three. It was a wonderful thing to behold. I said to her, “You see that old fool itching like a dog full of fleas? You did that!” It's the comradeship– that is the main reason I like to be involved in these events–brings bugs together. “We are far more united and have far more in common than that which divides us.”
Thank you Ves and Jeremy.
Sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Io_(mythology)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tabanidae
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