Squirrels, sticks, water bottles, rabbits, ear buds, ipod, granola bars, blinkies, shirt, unknown furry creatures that dart out at night, saddle bag, little yappy sausage dogs.
These have all at one time or another gotten tangled up in the wheels, sometimes catastrophically, sometime with not a scratch.
Your full stop put a lot of load on that fork, the equivalent of running into a wall most likely. I'd have been more surprised if no damage had occurred.
This is Africa, 1943. War spits out its violence overhead and the sandy graveyard swallows it up. Her name is King Nine, B-25, medium bomber, Twelfth Air Force. On a hot, still morning she took off from Tunisia to bomb the southern tip of Italy. An errant piece of flak tore a hole in a wing tank and, like a wounded bird, this is where she landed, not to return on this day, or any other day.