Right on, ride on

Ceci n'est pas une vélo

Almost got clipped today

Posted by @teeheehee on July 31st, 2008

I woke up wicked early this morning and decided with all this spare time I’d take a joy-ride down the Charles on the Storrow Drive path. I’m just about all the way back when I hit the Cambridge Street hill where the merge with I-90 traffic is.

I loathe this merge-point. Cars and trucks coming off of I-90 are used to going 75-80 MPH and they don’t want to slow down for Allston city speed limits. This morning was particularly nasty because I’m not used to riding at this time and it’s rush hour. Well, rather than try and cut over to the right in front of a line of cars (usually it’s just one or two and I wait for a gap, which doesn’t take very long) I had to stick to the middle lane.

I don’t know if the truck came from the highway or elsewhere, but after the crest he passed me with only inches to the mirror.

This is the first time in a while I’ve been in a dangerous spot like this. He had an open lane to his left, there was no more traffic a little ahead and to my right but I didn’t want to be in that lane because it’s turn-only. I was where I needed to be, not overly into the lane but left of the line by about a foot.

Well, I can’t just let that go, can I? I mean, he’s driving dangerously – I’m out here busting ass and he zooms by in an unsafe manner. At the light at the Hess I caught up and called into the truck:

“Hey, you came pretty close to me back there, guys.” There were three burly men, goatees all among them, stacked with muscles like construction workers. Seasoned construction workers. Makes sense, the truck looked like a work truck, though I didn’t catch the label on the side.

“Get off the road!” This was the driver

I replied: “I’m where I should be, thank-you-very-much!”

“Get off the road!” Still the driver. The other two say nothing.

“I’m where I need to be!”

“Get off the road!” I realize I’m not going to win his mind or heart in an argument, he’s limiting himself to simple, impulsive barking.

Whatever. I move on and take a right onto North Harvard. So does he. Masshole zooms me again shouting “Get off the road” one last time.

But I got his license plate.

Well, I have his license plate, what the hell do I do with it now? I’d like to track down the company he works for and file a complaint with them – I’m not a fan of slogging a case through the courts.

Any suggestions?

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