Super Cop

Today I experienced the antidote to Officer McBreakfast Taco.

I was riding my normal training route in and through the Woodlands and was proceeding along a side street with plenty of room for both car and cyclist. I was politely and safely passed by three cars/SUVS in a row. Maybe it was the ginourmously visible yellow, safe passing jersey:



Or maybe it was the blinky light that can be seen from space.



But apparently, this was not enough for a dumb sh*t motorist that I will call "Frat Boy"--you know the type--20 something, hipster side burns, too sexy for my baseball cap/God's-gift-to-babes self-image, and get-off-the-road and ride-on-the-sidewalk-faggot attitude.

Frat Boy, in his black Nissan, four cylinder-fake-sports-car with his nicotine habbit, tried to force me out of the lane and squeeze by to get to the upcoming traffic light. And this right after three other cars had passed properly and given me nearly the whole lane. Bad move, Frat Boy, because see, you have to stop at the traffic light, and I'm going to give you an unwanted education on the traffic laws. I've got sweatshirts older than you, Sparky. And if you want to go, you'll wind up in jail and bankrupt, because that's how it works when you go with the legal beagle. And if you're rude, you're also going to get a piece of my mind. And because today is today, I've got another surprise for you. (You'll see).

Of course, he was rude. Of course, he told me to "get out of the road." (Any of this sounding familiar?) Of course, he let go some F-bombs and called me a faggot. I asked Frat Boy if he'd like to discuss this with a police officer right then and there. He (having quickly run through his limited vocabulary) told me to F off, and get the F out of his way and get my hand off his f-ing car because I was a faggot, blah blah blah.

But Frat Boy miscalculated, and I was so emboldened because I was thinking ahead. You see, all those cyclists in the Woodlands today were doing a triathlon. (Not me, I was just training). And that meant nearly every intersection was blinking red with one lane blocked off and a line of cars waiting to get through an intersection controlled by at least three police officers. So, while Frat Boy waited in the line of cars (evil laugh here), I biked 400 yards up the shoulder to the next group of police officers, told the officer in charge that there was a motorist in the line who needed an education on the traffic laws and maybe a ticket as well because he had tried to squeeze me out of the lane with his automobile and then threatened me.

And I was standing there with my new-found friends in law enforcement (wearing my "I'ts the Law" jersey) as Frat Boy approached the intersection. And I identified his sorry a$$ for the four officers controlling traffic. And he saw me identify his sorry a$$. And I watched as the officers directing traffic ordered Frat Boy to turn into the parking lot where they intended to have a little talk about what the law requires and how grownups are required to behave when they are behind the wheel of a deadly weapon.

Go ahead, Frat Boy.

Make. My. Day.


***After Action Report***

Things I wish I had done:

1. Should have photographed his license plate and his face. I carry a camera for just such a purpose. The first thought should be to go for the camera and the cell phone. Bullies are cowards when they've been called out of their vehicles and identified.

2. I wish I had brought my laminated copy of the traffic laws to toss in his open window as I spit on his car and rode away to taunt him into trying to attack me in front of the officers so they'd put him in jail.

OK, that's not exactly true, but it's a nice fantasy.