About 11 or 12 years ago, I was working for an odd guy who owned a bike/ski shop in Castle Rock (there are few stories to tell, there, let me assure you). I was in charge of opening a new shop on the west side of town, at C-470 and Ken Caryl road.
One day, as I was still putting the shop together, Carol called and asked if I had time for a ride. I did, so she drove over. We left from the parking lot, and headed north on the 470 Bike Trail. We planned on riding from where we were, up to Bear Creek Lake, then back. It's not a long ride, but it's pretty hilly and makes for a good, quick workout.
Not far up the trail, we saw a tiny little snake lying on the concrete pavement.
"Is it dead?" Carol asked.
I stopped beside it, and put my foot down. The snake raised its head up.
"Nope," I offered.
I bent down to take a look at the snake, and noticed tiny little rattles. It's funny, but even a baby rattlesnake, while cute, seems a little menacing.
"Look," I said, pointing at the snake, still bent over at the waist. "It's a rattlesnake!"
Just as the word "rattlesnake" came out of my mouth, the little bugger struck at me. I had on full-fingered mountain bike gloves, as usual, and the snakes fangs hit the end of my pointing finger and sank into the material of the glove.
"Holy crap!" I yelled (or words to that effect, anyway), as I jerked my hand back...and accidentally threw the snake at Carol.
Mania ensued, for a few moments.
Eventually, we all calmed down. Carol and I continued on our way, and the snake crawled off to do whatever baby rattle snakes do (maybe eat baby mice?).
Lesson learned: If you are going to point at a rattlesnake, don't be a goon and stick your finger virtually in his mouth!