What started out as light cruisy ride down the Mornington Peninsula (Coolart Rd) ended as, "what the **** ,Jesus ******christ" then quick wrench and stomp onthe brakes to stop as fast as I could. Basically I thought I had been shot in the chest by a grungy hillbilly and my whole life was about to end. Many things went through my mind as to what has happened as I was trying to pull up. Before even stopping I was looking at the left side of my jacket chest area for some sort of damage, blood, a hole, tear, some visable sign of to what what is causing me pain. Nothing? I stop, get off the bike and again start to check jacket, nothing, open it up nothing. Lift up the tee shirt and I see a red welt about the size of an orange of which was pulsing with pain. A minute after gathering a little composure and the pain subsiding I realised what had happend, as I was looking to the right sight seeing a stinking bloody nasty bastard pine cone must had dropped from one of the trees and smacked me in the chest, not so dramatic as I was assuming, but none the less it bloody hurt. This little incident will now make me more aware of what pine cones could do to a rider. I was wondering on the way home, how many poor souls have actually been taken out by one of nature's grenades, and the incident has been put down to rider error?