Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

Apparently fed up with the wintry recidivism in our yard, the dude above was using that renowned mollusk ingenuity to make his escape. Apparently unfamiliar with the alphabet, he was trying to become H-cargo, when his biological imperative should have driven him to seek a Saab, Saturn of Subaru to cleave to. (Didn’t something similar happen in one of the Aliens movies?)

On this morning, however, he would have endured the equivalent of the Oregon Trail, a dizzying commute across the 520 bridge to Redmond. I thought it might be interesting to see if his adhesive grip could withstand the centripetal force of the wheel’s rotation for the 20 miles of freeway driving. On many 520 commutes, in fact, he’d get there faster by jumping off and using his own form of locomotion.

Instead, I pulled him off and tossed him into the moist, inviting parking strip before I drove away.  (No snails were harmed in the production of this blog post).