When the death train comes rushing, step off the tracks

Holy crap, that was close! I came up behind two other cyclists, waiting to cross a very busy four-lane intersection. The light changed, and we went, but this total asshole (ASSHOLE!!) ran the red light between me and the other two bikes.

There’s no question he knew what he was doing. None whatsoever. Two cars ahead of him were already stopped for the red light, but he squeezed between his lane and the left-turn lane, honking his horn madly, and drove right on through! The cyclist ahead of me screamed; any closer and he would have clipped her rear tire. And if I hadn’t jammed on my brakes, he would have hit my flat on the side, and I would definitely not be here writing this.

*pant, pant, pant*

I don’t even believe anybody could do that! What was so important that he risked killing people? If he was in a hurry to get to a hospital, he was going the wrong way. He had to have been on drugs.

And why didn’t I get his plates? After I stopped, I just sat there staring. Looking at his light to make sure there was no malfunction–yup, red all right–then remembering I’d better get out of the intersection. But not thinking to get his damn plates. I talked to the cyclist in front of me, and she was too freaked out to get them either. Maybe one of the motorists waiting at the light did.


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