This morning, I was, for the first time, subjected to the practical effects of the let's-moralise-at-perfect-strangers philosophy.
Perhaps because I'm much less forbidding-looking in bright lycra on a Trek than I am behind a dark visor on a GSX1400?
It was both deeply ridiculous and mildly irritating.
To the splutteringly indignant ZZR250 rider who felt it necessary to attempt to converse with me on the subject of red lights and how one shouldn't conserve momentum through them, I hereby dedicate the
rest of my day's illegal maneuvers.
Given his somewhat apoplectic reaction to a cyclist blowing through an empty stoplight-controlled pedestrian crossing (no, it wasn't an actual road intersection), I suspect that some of my later downtown antics would have left him in need of actual medical attention.
Motorcyclists (particularly those of the learner/restricted licence variety, for some reason) can be
such self-righteous twats. My resolve to never behave like that has been well strengthened.
Peace out, y'all!
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