The pace of life is so much more relaxed in a small town. Riding in more of a city, people would nearly kill me every day and we'd barely have time to flip each other off. Here in Small Town America we have time to chat about it.
This morning on the ride to work, I was approaching an intersection from one direction, preparing to turn right, as a white-haired gent in a small silver car approached it from the opposite direction, preparing to turn left into the same street.
Left turns yield to oncoming traffic, right?
I knew damn well he wouldn't, but I had good speed and I know the corner. I had just enough of an edge to claim the turn as the law ordains. It's part of a nice right-left descending combination that leads down onto a level street with parking on both sides. After the swooping descent I will generally float along at a prudent speed, approaching Main Street by the Post Office.
As I floated at my prudent speed, the little silver car pushed past me to stop in a short line waiting at Main Street. I floated up to join them. The driver called out sternly, "You ought to pay more attention to the rules of the road!"
"Really," I said. "According to the rules of the road, left turns yield to right turns. Look it up."
"Well you need to slow down," he snapped, and pulled out onto Main Street.
I floated out with him, pacing the traffic without the slightest strain or danger to myself or others. He, meanwhile, almost clipped a truck backing out of a parking space, and blew through a crosswalk.
"What are you, RECKLESS?" I yelled. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed.
He kept looking back as he drove on up the street, held in check by all the other motor vehicles in his way. I wasn't about to try to pass that psycho. It was more fun to ride sedately behind him to my next turn. It gave me lots of time to memorize his license plate.
If he screws with me again I'll go by his house and stick a driver's handbook under his windshield wiper blade.