It was a moto-fascist kinda day.
Cell phone talkers, buzzers, crazy old men in mini-vans almost running over me...
I pulled off a veritable Ramming Speed Friday, but only because I gave chase after the deadly weapon I was almost assaulted with ran away.
I was approaching a stop sign and took the lane. An old man with his wife and some young kids, presumably his grandkids, came within inches of me and Minus. I started smacking the side of the can screaming:" THREE FEET! THREE FEET! THREE FEET!!!" He came closer, then began to make his rolling stop/right turn across me. I slammed to a stop just in front of him, looking back into his windshield, still screaming about yardsticks. He never even glanced at me. Then he turned right in front of me, again, almost clipping me, and continued down the frontage road toward Kipling.
Heart pounding, blood raging, I jammed down on the pedals and gave a weak chase. He left me in his geriatric dust. I believed him gone out of my wretched commuting life.
And then when I reached light at Kipling there he sat. The light turned green and he went straight. The same direction I was headed. Up and down the pedals spun in a blur. I stood up on the pedals, ignored the burning in my lungs, blew through the vacant stop sign at Independence and caught Grampa at Garrison. As he prepared to turn left I screamed at his open window: "Hey! HEY! HEY!!!" He didn't stop.
I was determined I was going to give him a piece of my mind. If he'd almost killed me intentionally I was going to report him to the aggressive driver hotline. If he had been completely oblivious through the whole debacle I was going to suggest he should not get back behind the wheel.
Garrison climbs up to Ridge. I lost him again as he sped away into my neighborhood. I rocketed up the hill, across the tracks and up to Ridge. I glanced east and west. No minivan. Wait! Maybe I saw him turned far off the the east. I took off. I roamed the neighborhood for a few minutes looking for a green minivan. No luck! I'd just lost him by a few seconds.
Okay, so maybe I overreacted. It was just one of those days. First it was the redneck in the rusty Ford that tried to pass me going into the round-a-bout. Then on the way home I had to dodge so much stupid driving it just wasn't funny. The old man was the cherry on top. I snapped. Getting close enough to a moving vehicle that I could reach out and touch it kinda sets me off. It's kinda my weakness.
But anyway, I pulled off a RSF, if only because I was in a red road rage.