In which I rant at a motorist who (probably) didn’t deserve it
I had had a bad morning. My boys had been difficult that morning and it was the culmination of a week of frustrations and mild depression. Everything anyone did was annoying me and I was just poised, waiting for my moment to strike!
There is a fairly narrow road at one point on my route which is almost invariably thick with traffic. Some cyclists just ride down the pavement but I try to avoid doing this so I ride down the centre of the road. The traffic to my left is mostly stationary and there’s generally enough room between it and the oncoming traffic for a bike with 40cm handlebars to get through, as long as the stationary traffic isn’t too far out into the middle of the road.
Mostly the traffic was fairly tucked in but one car was quite far out by the white lines so that, with the oncoming traffic, I was unable to get past. That was the trigger I had been waiting for and I let rip. The air around me turned blue as I hurled half a dozen colourful insults from the rear wing of the car, arms waving in gesticulation.
I had thought that my rant had been semi-private, just a pressure valve for me, not actually hurting anyone – the driver was in his cocoon, isolated from my tirade. It was only as the traffic eased from the other direction and I pulled out past the car that I inferred (from the look on his face) that while he may not have heard me he had certainly seen the wild waving of my arms.
Of course, this plunges me back into a cycle of self-recrimination which keeps me in a foul mood all morning to the point where, having gone for a run out in the fabulous weather at lunchtime, all I can say on my return is that the sun was in my eyes.
I got better.