Beat The Clock.

September 25 - Bears

Little furry bears changed my life.

My story begins in the rocky mountains of California.The family vacation had literally come to a screeching hail when the "Wilderness Tour" jeep blew a tire on the side of the trail halfway up the mountain. As a manuver of survival, my older brother Billy and I had teamed up of sorts when vacation began. Determining if we stuck together on issues of free time and vetoing any activity that would ruin our respective reputations, we'd come out of three tour on the road with our folks somewhat scratch-free.

Unfortunately our brilliant plan took a severe beating when Dad overrulled our wish for rafting for the "Wilderness Tour". As the paternal unit he decided that three hours in the baking sun with an open jeep full of strangers was better than pulmeting down the raging rapids of the local river. Go figure.

Billy and I were silently bemoaning our tragic fates when Mom whipped our her new digital camera and pointed to a sight about twenty yards away. "Look Rachel! Cubs!"

Sure enough there were two brown bear cubs playing with each other out of the right side of the car. A small chill ran down my spine as I saw how close they were. Sure, there was a small fence constructed to keep the wild things in and the humans out, but how many times had I been force to watch "When Nature Attacks" with Billy. Unconsciously, I scooted closer to my big brother.

"They're doing it wrong."

I stared at Billy muttering to himself, staring intently at the bears. I nudged him to explain. "What are you talking about?"

He pointed, his voice bordering anger. "The bears. The bigger one is trying to show the smaller one how to lock, but he's getting the stepping all wrong."

My brother, a b-boy since junior high, took great offense when he felt someone was "posing" as a breakdancer. The fact they were bears seemed to completely escape his attention.

I peered closer and saw indeed that the cubs were trying to bust a move old school. But what shocked me more was when Billy, murmuring something about not being able to watch anymore, hopped out of the jeep and marched over to the cubs.

Screams and cameras burst out at once. A young girl next to me excitedly told everyone she was planning on posting this video on the internet when she got home. All I could see in my mind's eye was Billy being made Yogi Bear's dinner on YouTube.

Billy whistled to get the cubs attention, calling out to them to turn his way. He was standing just inside the barrier, his baseball cap turned backward so he could see what he was doing. The cute and lethal little bears turned from their dancing to stare at him, whether to eat him or maul him to death, I'm not sure. Someone inside the jeep had the fortitude to turn on the radio, a random hip-hop tune aiding my brother in his dance of death.

All dining risks aside, Billy performed some of his best moves. He repeated the basics a few times for the cubs in the hope they were taking notes. Soon though his moves became more elaborate - popping, locking, freezing - before spinning a windmill on his head, ending in a pike freeze.

Everyone human froze as well.

For a minute I was sure Billy was bear food. Then, the damnest thing happened. The cubs copied his movements, beat for beat, only losing their footing a couple of times due to their size.

The whole jeep exploded into applause as Billy climbed back into the car. My mouth hung to the floor. I couldn't stop staring at him in awe and mortification.

"Billy," I said after I found my gumption again. "Those were bears." As if those words alone would brings the fear home fore him.

He sniffed, doing a poor job not looking smug. "That isn't an excuse for messing up the craft."

I would never look at my big brother or little, fuzzy bears the same again.