Effing, Effing, and Effing

He was walking from his car twirling, what at the time I was sure was a stethoscope. The impression was of someone having a great morning. It was the way my morning had started off. His visible good mood seemed like an affront and I took it personally, letting it draw my anger up and out. I don't use the 'F'-word very often, believing that its casual overuse has diluted its significance, but now I used it multiple times. Something about keeping his "effing eyes on the effing road", something about being an "effing idiot", and... I am sure you get the point.

A minute earlier I had been spinning along Bonita Avenue (Citrus Regional Bikeway) between Towne and Garey. Forced onto my single speed pseudo-cross bike for the day I was spun out at 23 mph. It does not take much for me to reach that point anyway and with only a 38 chainring I was there. A triathlon was taking place at Bonelli Park, a short distance away and just right for the s.s. I had been hopping for a long ride, so last night I considered this last minute change of plans to be "making the best of the situation." By the morning, however, the disappointment had become "ideal." I have never shot a triathlon before and was looking forward to it.

The reverie I was in the midst of as I rolled along the bike lane was broken by the sound of wheels suddenly swerving behind me. There was no time to react in any way before a grey car screamed by twelve inches from my left elbow, right wheels in the bike lane. The first "effing" came out right then. I  believe it was quickly followed by "a-hole" and a lot of throwing my right arm around through the air. My glare tracked his progress along the street until he made a right turn. As luck would have it right into the parking lot for Casa Colina. 

"Ha, I got you, you S.O.B." Winding up the cranks for all they were worth, I sped up the driveway, bunny hopped a couple speed bumps, passed an empty guard shack, and then there he was, the "effing" idiot, looking like he was on top of the world, twirling that stethoscope, oblivious to the mayhem he had nearly caused. It was too much, and I let him know. He just stood there. Dumbstruck. Was he surprised that I would following him in? I wonder now if he even knew I was there in the bike lane. On my bike. Where he should not have been. In his car. Watching the road. Not whatever "effing" thing he was preoccupied with.

Thank goodness for the competition at Bonelli. The energy of the racers and support of the spectators settled my nerves, got the day back on track. It was quite a morning, an inverted bell curve of emotions - two highs sandwiching a low. Dog, I hate people who don't take their responsibility behind the wheel seriously.

Quite often timing is everything - a thought bubble for tomorrow