So, there is this dude.

I see him commuting twice a day, every day. Morning. Night. Morning. Night. The first time I took note of this dude, I came up behind him on the LRT after work and needed to pass. I said "passing left!" He stayed in the middle of the lane and did nothing. Usually I get a look or a wave or a thank you or something when I alert other cyclists that I am barreling down on them, so I said it louder and more commanding to make sure he heard. "PASSING LEFT."

His response went something like this, though I'll go ahead and censor it for those out there with delicate sensibilities. "I effing heard you the first effing time but there is no way in h - e - double hocky sticks I am going to move over because there is effing gravel over here... bitch."

For the record there was no gravel. Ok, maybe a pebble or two. I was so shocked that I replied the only way I knew how. "Wow! That was amazing! I love yoooooou toooooooo." Then I blew a kiss at him, turned around and rode like I was being chased my bees. I may have set a land speed record. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I kept going. There was no way I could endure letting my super clever come back be negated by another encounter. I pulled off the main trail and took side streets. Got home. Saw my dog. And tried to forget the entire incident ever happened. Some people, huh?

But, because God is just soooo funny, I now see this same dude twice a day, every day. Morning. Night. Morning. Night. And yes, each time I still need to pass him. I don't say anything now. Just take a deep breath, eyes forward, legs pushing and pass when there is no traffic and I am tired of waiting around. No harm, no foul, right?

No. Not right. Because every day I hear the same damn noise behind me. Him switching gears. To chase and re-pass me.

Let me take a time out: Mom, don't worry. I am not an idiot. To date he has been harmless--just an old dude with a raging inferiority complex and no helmet and I really can't fathom him actually being dangerous. That said I am well aware that he could be one "passing left" away from snapping into a serious Nam flashback. So I am safe. I am careful. I am tough. It is Minneapolis and there are tons of witnesses. I love you and will call soon.

Anyway. Since I am not, oddly enough, in a place in my life where I have to prove self-worth by racing strange old angry dudes, I maintain a pace I am comfortable with and ride on. And every day he passes me by cruising through a red light that I am stopped and waiting at.

There is no moral at the end of this story, no lesson learned, nothing. I just really hate everything about this dude and am using it as an excuse to leave work, like, 15 minutes early.