A killer within

I don’t care what the stats say, killing is killing. Intent is optional.

It’s something to do with time and place. Think about it, two different people came close to killing me on Monday.

Behind the wheel a hasty mist descends and their brains dissolve.

Beautiful day, ugly stuff

Outside Rosyth there’s a back road narrow and undulating enough to make a milkshake if a driver were so inclined.

Day-Glo dice

Anyone who knows me tells me I carry it well … my weight that is. I wrap up in bright yellow to ensure I’m seen. So there I am 50 yards from the top of a steep slope. My knees transmitting thigh-power to the pedals—muscles questioning the need for pace. A car slows behind me. The crunching of gravel tells me the deceleration is fierce.

A couple of stones rattle past me. The blipping throttle can’t make me accelerate—I’m going fast as I can—uphill.

Sexless stupidity

The crown of the hill draws near. A red van is coming. Behind, the revving increases and, with a chirping spray of gravel, my follower jumps the gun, unable to see. Beside me he/she realises his/her mistake—too late—he/she brakes hard and swerves much too near and into my space. Lungs bursting, I slam on the anchors—even though I’m climbing.

‘f***** …’ One word croaks out, I’m too breathless to get the profanities out. Imagine, not even the satisfaction of bellowing a mouthful after the *******.

The unknown driver charges past my biking buddy. Forty yards later we’re on our quiet cycle route.

Again? But of course

Twenty minutes later it happens again on a series of tight bends and over double white lines. A little red Fiat doesn’t bother to brake. He/she charges past me, gets close to a head-on with a car coming the other way. My bike-buddy wobbles as the idiot swerves past him.

I think I’ll get a helmet cam. I hear you can get tough ones that’ll survive an owners transition to road-kill. Apart from the two morons, I had a great cycle.

Not to mention the café and carry on at half time.

Mac Logan
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