It was over in three seconds. I had broken out my moderately refurbished road bike early in the morning and taken it for its first real ride in a couple of years, a break from my recent steady routine of mountain biking. Along the trail near where the Naches River flows into the Yakima, I came up behind a short, stocky, shirtless runner sticking to the right side of the path. To be safe, I drifted way to the left. Just as I was nearly even with him, he leaped–still running–directly in front of me.
“Whoa, whoa whoa,” I yelled, barely grazing him.
“Sorry, Dude,” he yelled. “Snake.”
I looked over my shoulder. A three-and-a-half-footer was making its way across the trail. I didn’t go back to see if it was a rattler.