The scenario is I'm riding East on L Street in moderate traffic. This
is in rush hour, traffic moving at about 10-15 mph.
I'm centered in the leftmost clear lane (L Street is one way) and
I'm up to traffic speed.
A clog up ahead gets removed and now the traffic is faster, say 20
mph. So I gear up and accelerate, say to 25 mph, the speed limit.
Note that I am going at legal max speed and the curb lane is lousy
with delivery vans and people pulling out of parking garages at the
end of their day.
My judgement and experience tells me that I need to be in this
lane and mode to be safe.
So a driver decides that because there's a momentary clear space
in front of me that I'm going too slowly.
They lay on the horn. Major horn blowing.
What they don't know is that I have this road timed, clocked and
dialed in as far as lights and traffic are concerned.
Blow as you may, I'll be in Scotland afore ye.
In actual fact, I knew that with a mild sprint I'd be on their
bumper at the Rite-Aid and they'd be facing a good long red
light.
So it was. I stopped, got off, and pulled my trusty Kryptonite
EVO 2000 out of the pannier pocket. I hung it on my bar and walked
up to the (natch) SUV.
At this point I was not interested in a violent confrontation, all
I wanted was a valuable dialogue. But I was spitting mad.
And I did not know what subhuman scum were piloting the offending
vehicle, hence the Kryptonite.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered two middle-aged church ladies
operating this engine of intimidation, the operator frantically trying
to close the windows and her passenger asking calmly, "What are you
trying to do with the windows?"
I was, nonplussed. As the windows went up and down.
It was bizarre, but not too bizzare for me to forego the opportunity
to deliver my road use lecture. Somewhat obstructed by involuntary
convulsions.
The capper was, as soon as the HCL had mastered her windows, she
stated, "Ah'm rat, ah works for the bahsicle program and you're
wrong."
Apparently the bicycle program involves riding your horn when behind
bicycles. OK, I thought, that has to be cool.
This definitely wasn't a battle I was going to win, so I made a
great show of reading off her license plate, pulling into the ATM
that was my original objective, and pretending to write down said
license number.
Of course I didn't have a pen.
--
_______________________ALL AMIGA IN MY MIND_______________________
------------------"Buddy Holly, the Texas Elvis"------------------
__________306.350.357.38>>[email hidden]__________