Beware the horrible tick
For the tick, it's a never-ending
string of bad relationships. For us hosts, it's all good until we find a tick
where the sun don't shine. By Lee McCormack
This is a great time to get out and enjoy some trails. Whether you're pedaling Lycra-style, shuttling DH or hiking for freeride thrills, you should watch out for these nasty little suckers.
A tick's life sucks
You're born with 3,000 other six-legged larval siblings, none of whom give a darn about you. You're dad is long gone, and your mom is dead. All you can do is climb out of the leaf litter and find a host. A mouse, a deer, a weasel, who cares? You hang out and drink blood for a week or so, swell to like five times your original size, then drop off and petition NORBA for an upgrade to the nymph class.
Anywhere from a week to years later,
your other two legs come in the mail, and you emerge as a nymph (a semipro
tick). Yay. Time to find another host, feed for another week then drop off.
It's the same old, same old -- except when you emerge from your hiding place
a month later, you're a full-on adult tick. Now it's time to get busy. You climb onto a blade of grass and wait for your next host. It's a foggy Wednesday in the Oakland Hills, and the trails are pretty quiet. Suddenly, you feel some vibration and sense some carbon dioxide. A nylon Fox Racing short brushes past, and you latch on. Now we're talking. The whole world lurches up and down, but you know what you have to do. You crawl toward the warmth and wet, under the nylon and finally find skin. Stoked! You keep going until you find a nice, warm, moist spot, then you plunge your serrated mouth into the flushed skin. Ah ...
Your host, a fellow named Curtis,
feels you penetrate him, but you pump him with anesthetic, and he just keeps
chugging along. You secrete some all-natural glue to make the connection super-strong,
and you start sucking. Mmm, mmm blood. Your host keeps shifting around as
maye if he knows you're there, but you take the pounding and keep pulling
in the life fluid. All you have to do is gorge yourself up to three times
your current girth, then find a mate, and your life's work is done. 
As the 3.5-hour ride wore on, Curtis felt unusually uncomfortable on his saddle. As a guy who runs boxers instead of Lycra, he figured it was just some chafing. When he got home and started cleaning up, Curtis found what seemed like a scab down in Area 51, you know, between the dangly bits and the black hole.
"Weird, this is one tough scab. ... Wait, Oh my god! It's a TICK!!!"
Curtis gabbed hold and started pulling, but the tick meant business. Finally, the 6'0", 195-pound pro downhiller yanked the 3-millimeter invader from his saddle contact patch, squashed it like a bug and flushed it down the toilet. A yucky adventure for Curtis; a wasted life for our friend the tick.
If you get bitten
No question,
ticks are gross. And bonus: They spread Lyme disease. Symptoms vary, but here's
what you can look forward to: A 2+ inch red, ring-shaped rash erupts around the bite, and you feel like you have the worst flu in history. For some people, that's it. Others experience headaches, stiff neck, arthritis, brain swelling, irregular heartbeat, numbness and tingling in their arms and legs, and partial paralysis of their faces. Lyme disease is definitely worth avoiding.
Lyme disease occurs throughout the continental U.S., but its most common in the northeast (Maine to Maryland), north central (Minnesota and Wisconsin) and the northwest (Oregon and California).
Ticks catch the Lyme bacteria from their hosts. So larvae, who are blood virgins, are harmless. Nymphs and adults have been around, if you know what I'm saying. They're the bad actors.
The longer the tick is in you, the greater your chance for catching Lyme disease (1 percent if you get the tick right away; 25 percent if you let it gorge itself -- yuck). Check yourself right after each ride. I recommend shaving your entire body and wearing a white skinsuit, so the little buggers can't hide.
Pull the tick out asap. The serrated mouthparts and special tick glue make their heads adhere like Crazy Glue. Grab the head with some tweezers and gently pull straight out. If the head breaks off, see if you can dig it out without ruining yourself. If not, leave the head there and your body will take care of it. Don't twist the tick, light it on fire, cover it in Vaseline or any of that jazz. Just pull it straight out.
If you know what's good for you, put the tick in an envelope marked with the place and date you picked it up. If you exhibit any signs of Lyme disease, contact your doctor, who might have the tick tested for the bacteria. If you appear to have the disease, you'll be taking antibiotics for a few weeks. That usually clears things up -- and it's worth the trouble to avoid a paralyzed face.