Toad in the Hole

We were coming back from San Francisco yesterday afternoon, on the connector from the Bay Bridge to Highway 24, upon which, assuming decent traffic and speed, one spends a minute or two on the top loop of a hilarious gigantic artwork of freeway spaghetti, something that would be an amusement-park ride in a more civilized society. It is fun, though the need to pay attention to the road so as to remain upon as it curves is a bit of a constraint.

There, high above the ground, we ran smack-on into a swarm of bees.

It was a set of very odd sensations. I saw a lot of dots in the air. I saw a lot of moving dots in the air. I saw a lot of flying dots in the air. I saw a lot of flying-under-their-own-power (as opposed to ballistic) dots in the air. I saw levitating dots in the air. I saw THWOCKTHWICKSPOCKSPLUT dots in the air resolve into little splats on the windshield. I was still flinching, a reflex fostered by several encounters with airborne gravel at freeway speeds, when my forebrain had put it together and I realized we’d intersected a highflying swarm of bees. There were lots of them outside our path on both sides, but there was also lots of traffic behind us. I’d imagine the hive lost a great many members in that journey.

I examined the car’s grille later, and confirmed my guess: there were a few nearly-intact honeybees there and stuck to the windshield wipers.

What was funny: there was a crow following them, clearly making something of an effort to pace herself and track the swarm. I think she probably dodged the freeway traffic and got away unhurt. I had a mental picture of a sort of journalist or recording secretary charting the swarm’s passage.