Cycling Related

Here's a good one: Four of us were riding through a local park. It's not the typical pocket-handkerchief of grass and a few trees, but a huge tranche of open country, woodland, and farmland that has belonged to the council since the 1940s and includes a manor house (the original owner), a church, and a small village. It's also a dead-end, not a through route to anywhere.

As we rode carefully along the only road into the park, weaving around the many potholes, a large 4WD came up behind us and crept along for a good half a mile or so before an opportunity to pass us arose. As he came past he gave us not a friendly toot but an exasperated blast of the horn - we can all tell the difference.

Unfortunately for him we were all going to the same place, which was the car park of the walled garden and cafe a couple of hundred yards further on, so I was able to go and ask him why he was so impatient. He responded, 'You could go single file once in a while,' presumably so he could get to the car park a full thirty seconds before we did. I can't begin to imagine why this was so important to him.

It's a park, I said. The road is full of potholes. It's 20mph. He was starting to get a bit shirty, but his wife (looking embarrassed) intervened and then he did kind of grudgingly apologise.

As we wandered round the walled garden we kept coming across them, and giving them big over-friendly smiles. I do hope he thinks a bit about why he behaved like such a complete arse.

Well done for having a word.

The Real Ravenhurst wrote: ↑

3 years ago

Well done for having a word.

Or alternatively, in the spirit of CC... All forms of social interaction are foolhardy. It's a jungle out there and you never know when you're going to meet the next psycho. You'll only have yourself to blame when you inevitably get beaten to death with a rolled-up copy of the Daily Mail. In fact, did you even need to be there anyway?

The Real Ravenhurst wrote: ↑

3 years ago

Or alternatively, in the spirit of CC... All forms of social interaction are foolhardy. It's a jungle out there and you never know when you're going to meet the next psycho. You'll only have yourself to blame when you inevitably get beaten to death with a rolled-up copy of the Daily Mail. In fact, did you even need to be there anyway?

Ach, too true. The saddest thing is that he and his passengers didn't look the least bit like part of the DM readership - they actually closely resembled the epitome of the local middle class greenies, in their shabby-chic boho outfits. Just goes to show you can't judge by appearances.