Road terror part 214

I took the meandering route home tonight, which is designed solely to get my daily mileage up as close to 40km as it can get without going up and down the same road a few times. It takes me along Great North Road, which is OK as roads go, and is does go north, but I am not so sure that it is a great north road. The pacific highway for instance is a bigger road that goes north, but it is anything but great.

I digress. Two nice things about this particular road are that it has a cycle lane and when you get to the lights at the intersection of Lyons Rd (famous for all the Italians that live along it with concrete lyons and pink flamingoes out the front), you get a lane all to yourself. That's because it's two lanes at the lights, and they quickly merge into one lane just past the lights. The two lane thing is a pain in the arse, as all it does is encourage wankers to zoom up the left lane, tear off at the lights and then try and merge into the other lane like spastic sheepherders.

I had one of them tonight. I was almost at the lights when dickhead decides to race up along side me and cut in without warning or indicating. It was one of those dramatic moves that causes on old car with soggy springs and fading shock absorbers to wallow like a waltzing hippo, which is what the old shitbucket Datsun did.

I though about sliding up beside him and saying something like, "It's not a race, you tool", but then he leant his arm out the window sill and it looked to be covered in bad, faded prison tats.

I simply sat behind him and thought zen thoughts. I counted the number of Ibis pulling rubbish out of the litter bins (countless - like the plagues of Egypt). I tried to estimate the level of decibels of wog boy a few lanes away with his shaved up the side haircut and his 1970's retro-panelvan type mural on the bonnet (somewhat louder than a low flying jumbo). I summed up the number of awful purple or yellow mags within view (ran out of fingers and toes).

Then the lights changed. Wanker didn't have enough grunt to beat the Tarago beside him off the line. Or the old banger behind it. He meekly merged in about the same position as he started.

What a knobtool.