So this morning was one of those mornings we cyclists occasionally have. You know the one where you almost get killed and follow the offending driver, pass said driver and stop your bike to block further driver progress to have a “chat” with them about it?

This morning my very one-sided “chat” was with an old geezer (i.e., somebody about my age of 63) in a pseudo hot-rod Mustang who nearly took me out in a “right cross” as I cycled up MLK just past Oak, the eastside frontage road of I-25.

Dude passes me uphill at the light and immediately tries to get in the parking lot at the arrow above. The light had stayed green so I was moving pretty good. My back wheel locked a smidge in slamming on the brake and the bike and I experienced a small shimmy before your humble blogger decided he needed to follow said dude into said parking lot for a “chat.”

Fortunately, and these cases always rely on quite a few fortunate aspects, otherwise they end poorly, geezer and his apparent spouse drove slow enough through the parking lot that I could pass and pull to a stop in front of them for chatting purposes. There’s always that second or two when you get off the bike and turn back to face the offender. “What will this person look like?” “Will they have a revolver in their hand?”

You know, thoughts like that. I had no idea when I turned back to face him that dude was a geezer. He could have been anybody.

In this case, old geezer, whose self-esteem and apparent lack of geriatric-onset sexual prowess prodded him to get a pseudo mustard yellow hot-rod Mustang (probably late 2010s/early 2020s), merely watched while I pointed to the bike, said things I don’t remember (other than I remember not cussing…cuz that’s how I was brought up) and geezer could only offer a dismissive smirk to my poorly offered argument that he almost killed my ass.

The apparent wife simply stared from the passenger seat during this “chat.”

Anytime is a bad time to almost get killed cycling by a geezer in a pseudo hot-rod, but this morning only a week since a very well-known guy was killed cycling made it an especially bad time. Thoughts come to mind for all Burque cyclists these days. Thoughts like “Fuck these fucking drivers.” and “Maybe I should stop cycling, but fuck that idea, because fuck them.”

Hmmm…my upbringing and not cussing at fuckheads who almost kill me in person doesn’t seem to apply to blog posting about it. Sorry, those seem to be the cussing rules.

Sure, I’m hoping geezer in the Mustang “learned something” from the experience this morning. I’d like to think that, but, well, anyway.

Stay vertical, everybody.