While watching a cyclist being attacked by a goose would be a fun video, we still care for you. So, let’s talk about how not to get eaten, bitten, chased or mildly inconvenienced by those pesky creatures who happen to live where you decided to ride your bike.
The (not so) friendly furballs
Foxes in spring are like freshly divorced men in their 40s—out a lot more, a little too curious, and definitely not reading the social cues. They’re raising kits, they’re hungry, and they’re not always afraid of people. The good news is that rabies has been eradicated from Europe for more than two decades now. So, while foxes were the main carrier of this illness, getting rabies at all would be like being hit by a meteorite… inside your home.
Still, foxes can bite, especially if they feel threatened. Nowadays, they are highly social, and many forest huts around Europe have a pet fox (of sorts). They let you pet them as long as you provide some food as compensation. So, the biggest danger from foxes comes if they dash in front of your wheels, startling you. Otherwise, they will hide in the bushes, wondering whether to ask you for your granola bar or simply flee.
Foxes are actually pretty chill to deal with, so just smile, wave, and keep moving. If they follow you, they’ve decided you’re part of their family now. Tempting as it is, though, avoid petting or feeding them. Also, don’t start musical numbers. You’re not Disney princess material, no matter how well your socks match your saddle bag.
The stick that moves and hisses
If there’s one creature specifically designed to give cyclists a mild heart attack mid-ride, it’s a snake. And spring? Oh, that’s peak snake o’clock. After months of napping underground like some spooky crypt keeper, snakes finally emerge the moment the sun hits 15 degrees Celsius and immediately decide that your favourite trail is their new tanning bed. You know the rest. You’re cruising down a peaceful path, feeling one with nature, and BAM—there it is. Right in the middle of the trail. A perfectly coiled panic button with a smug expression and zero interest in moving.
And while snakes are annoying as hell the whole year round, during spring, they are particularly cold-blooded (pun intended). They rely on the sun’s heat to function. So, as this is the first sun in quite some time for them, they are still sluggish and unwilling to give way to anyone, no matter how big, fast or strong they think they are. Some species are precisely the opposite. Spring is their mating season, so to get some action, they must show off. And what better way to show off than slithering across a forest road during rush hour?
So, whatever you do, don’t just bunny-hop it. You’re not in a Red Bull video. Stop, detour, and pretend you’re brave. Even if the snake is not venomous, the bite will hurt a lot. It will also mean the end of your ride and a quick visit to the emergency room.
The God-damn airborne plague
Ah, yes, spring. When the flowers bloom, the trees bud, and the entire insect kingdom declares open season for cyclists. It’s like they’ve all agreed that anyone in Lycra deserves to be swarmed, stung or, at the very least, screamed at inside their helmet. You see, bugs don’t hibernate the same way mammals do. No, they spend winter plotting. And the moment temperatures rise, they come out with one goal: find something warm, sweaty, and fast-moving to annoy.
Riding through a bug cloud is a rite of passage. You’re spinning along and having a lovely time, and suddenly, it’s like pedalling through the opening credits of Jurassic Park. Only every speck of CGI is a real, angry gnat trying to enter your respiratory system. One deep breath, and you’ve swallowed a protein-packed family of midges. Congrats, your ride just became a buffet—with you as both diner and dish.
Then there are the bees and wasps. These little psychopaths don’t just fly into you by accident. No, they aim. Usually for your ear canal, neck or open mouth—preferably at 35 kph during a descent. So, this should barely be a surprise but wear glasses even if it’s cloudy. Bugs see your eyes as the perfect burial ground, so they will fly inside without hesitation, just like kamikazes.
Also, learn to descend with your mouth closed. Breathe through the nose. Finally, learn how to keep your balance after a hit on the head. Yes, that sounds a bit trickier, but when you’re descending at 60 kph and an insect hits you on the ear, you shouldn’t startle. Otherwise, a bump on your forehead may turn into something much more dangerous.
Nature’s tiny vampires
Among the creepy crawlies you will encounter during your spring rides, ticks are the most insidious. They don’t hiss, bite mid-descent or chase you, honking like they own the trail. No. The ticks prefer the long game. The slow, sneaky, absolutely horrifying approach of silently latching onto your skin and casually giving you a potentially life-altering disease as a parting gift.
Ticks are nature’s tiniest creeps. They hang out on tall grass and low branches like little parasites in waiting, arms wide open, hoping you’ll brush past so they can hitch a ride on your unsuspecting calf, thigh, or—if they’re feeling extra malicious—your inner waistband. Once on board, they go full stealth mode, burrowing in and getting cosy while you’re out there, blissfully unaware, posting your ride stats and latte pics on Strava. The minute temperatures hit “mildly tolerable”, they start crawling out of leaf litter with one mission: find a host. And guess who just shaved their legs and rolled through tick-infested meadows with exposed skin and a lot of confidence?
Ticks don’t jump or fly—they just wait for you to come to them. So unless you’re riding exclusively on paved roads (and even then, barely safe), chances are you’re crossing through their turf. So, make it a bit harder for these creepy crawlers to get to your delicious blood. Wear long socks or leg warmers. Sure, your calves won’t get that sexy cyclist tan, but skipping Lyme disease should arguably be a higher priority.
Regardless, after each ride, take your time checking yourself for ticks. Ask someone to check your back and head.
The honking you shouldn’t ignore
If snakes are jump scares and ticks are stealth ops, geese are the full-blown boss fight. Spring isn’t just their time to shine—it’s their time to dominate. Because what do geese do when the ice melts, and the grass turns green? They lose their minds.
Let’s be clear: geese aren’t animals. They’re tiny, feathered war machines with wings and absolutely no chill. Spring marks the start of their nesting season, which means every pond, canal, and cute little riverside café becomes their personal no-fly, no-ride, no-anything zone. And if you dare to pedal through it, prepare to be screamed at like you’ve just kicked their children. Which, by the way, are probably hidden somewhere nearby—watching, judging, imprinting on your face as their next target.
In spring, geese are mean and hormonal. Male geese will defend their nests with a level of aggression typically reserved for black Friday sales or German blitzkriegs. Female geese just sit there, silently fuelling their partner’s rage while you, poor innocent cyclist, roll into their kill zone like a lamb to the slaughter. So, what do you do when the relentless honking begins? Well, first things first. Dismount. There’s no shame in walking around a goose. Trust me, it’s better than trying to explain to your mates what this mark on your calf is.
If you have the option, give them space… like a lot of it. If you think it’s enough, take two more steps back. Also, avoid eye contact. Trust me, it’s not the time to play the alpha macho, scared of nothing. Geese interpret eye contact as a challenge, and unless you want to recreate your favourite battle in history, just keep your gaze elsewhere. Finally, use your bike as a shield. Not joking. They will come at you, hissing, wings spread like an angel of death. Holding your bike between you and them might be the only thing stopping a full-on assault.
The murder teddies
And then, of course, there are the bears. Nothing says “spring cycling adventure” like casually rolling through the woods and realising you’re no longer at the top of the food chain.
Bears, like the rest of nature, are waking up from their long winter nap. Only they’re not waking up with a smile and a morning stretch—they’re waking up starving, grumpy, and wondering why there’s a smelly human in tight shorts wheezing through their breakfast zone.
The thing with bears in spring is that they’re not out to get you—most of the time. But they are on edge. They’ve just woken up, burned through every calorie they had stored for hibernation, and are now roaming the forest like hangry toddlers with the strength of a forklift. Add to that the fact that spring is also cub season, and, suddenly, every mother bear you meet is in full-blown overprotective psycho mode. You may not even see the cub, but mama will see you, and she’s not in the mood for company.
Encounters are rare, sure, but they happen. Usually, when you least expect them. You’re climbing a peaceful forest road, breathing in that crisp alpine air, and just as you’re mentally composing your post-ride snack list, a bear ambles across the trail like it’s just checking on property values. Time slows down. Your legs freeze. Your brain short-circuits somewhere between “oh wow, a bear” and “oh crap, a bear.”
What happens next depends largely on how much of your survival advice comes from actual wildlife guides versus random Instagram reels. If you’re lucky, the bear just stares at you with mild disinterest and keeps walking. If you’re unlucky, you’ve rolled into a situation where panic is a very real and very dangerous option. Because, let’s be clear, you’re not going to outrun a bear. On a bike, downhill, with a tailwind and a gel coursing through your veins? Maybe. But probably not. Especially when your heart rate is already redlining, and you’re trying to clip in with trembling feet.
The trick, of course, is to avoid the encounter altogether. Make some noise while riding—bells, singing, even just talking to yourself like the unhinged, overcaffeinated cyclist you are. Most bears will hear you coming and get out of the way long before you see them. If you’re deep in bear country, riding in a group also helps. Bears are bold, but even they draw the line at interrupting a group ride mid-debate about tyre pressure and carbon bottle cages.
If you do see one, don’t scream, don’t sprint, and for the love of your deity of choice, don’t try to get a closer look. Just stop, stay calm, back away slowly, and pretend you’re a tree. A very boring, unappetising tree. Do not turn your back, do not drop your bike, and do not post about it until you’re at least 10 kilometres away and, preferably, behind a locked door.
Because the truth is, bears don’t want trouble. But if they get it, they finish it. And no KOM is worth becoming a cautionary tale told by other riders or someone like me.
You’re ready for the spring fauna
Now, while it’s wise to know what to expect and how to react, meeting these creatures during your spring rides is only natural. It happens. Some you will meet more than others. Bugs, for instance, are inevitable. Still, that shouldn’t scare you off from riding. After all, being around nature also means knowing how to deal with its more challenging factors.
So, don’t be scared, ride safe, ride smart, and use a bug repellent just so you won’t scratch all the way to winter.
