Just a warning first up. There is some fruity language coming up, if you are easily offended, please don’t keep reading.
I think I have discovered a new law. I shall call it the GoPro/Dickhead Inverse law. It goes like this.
The chances of having a run in with a dickhead in a car is inversely proportional to the GoPro being on. (I have read that a dozen times now and have no idea if it makes sense anymore).
I propose this theory because it seems like I have the most trouble with car drivers when I have either left the GoPro at home, or the batteries have run out. Today’s incident happened 3 minutes after the battery died according to the Garmin track.
Today’s incident was as ludicrous as it was enraged. I have prepared a little diagram to help me explain goings on.
Now, this section of road has caught me out more than once, so I am pretty careful when approaching it. In the diagram above, I am the orange arrow. The green arrow is Captain Dickhead, and the yellow circle is where he lost his shit.
As you can just see from the image above, the area inside the yellow circle has the road narrowing to help calm the traffic in this area. As a rule, I go to the centre of the road when riding through these to stop people trying to squeeze by.
Here is how today played out. As I approached the street that Captain Dickhead was in, I looked over my shoulder and there was a car just behind me. It went past me just as I cleared the street on the left. I committed to the centre of the lane as I went between the traffic islands.
I then heard a massive roar of an engine and squealing of tyres as Captain Dickhead obviously floored it and laid rubber all the way around the corner. I had already committed to the centre of the lane, as he roared up behind me and had to brake hard. As soon as was safe, I went back to the left of the white line on the edge of the road. I was just about to raise my hand to acknowledge him, when he accelerated past me.
Then the fun began. As you can see, he swerved to the left and locked his brakes. I had no where to go so had to stop.
“Hey you poof, get off the fucking road, you don’t pay rego!” came bellowing out of the window. I am not sure how he could determine my sexual orientation from our 20 second exchange. It seems to me that the average gay gentleman wouldn’t be seen dead in orange and blue lycra. And actually, I do pay rego, but he seemed in to much of a hurry to want to exchange thoughts.
Now those of you with a keen eye will have noticed I used the word ludicrous earlier. The absolute pearl in this anecdotal oyster was revealed as he drove off in a plume of blue smoke. On the back of his clapped out green Ford Falcon was a cardboard number plate with TRAFFIC written on it. Could this possibly mean that his car wasn’t registered either? If so, maybe this incident was equal parts enraged, ludicrous and hypocritical. Who knows?
As for me, I think I will try this look next time I ride my bike.
That might throw people.