The cyclist was screaming at an elderly driver who couldnโt edge past a lorry.
Sharp ditch on one side, high curb on the other. A treacherous predicament.
Stuck two cars back and watching the angry cyclist upset me. A lot. Being screamed at for no good reason was something I knew well.
The poor pensioner. First the fear of sliding into the ditch, then the abuse for driving cautiously. Broad shoulders and meaty ears made the cyclist physically intimidating.
Feeling a strong urge to protect the elderly driver, I found myself acting before I could think rationally about the situation.
โDonโt be rude, you idiot!โ I yelled out the window in passing. Not waiting around for a response.
Ironic words given the method of delivery.
I drove on not feeling any better as I would have hoped. I felt stirred up by what I had seen, then pretty terrible by my reaction. My hands were cold and sweaty.
Did I act inappropriately? Should I have turned a blind eye? Should I have blocked the road? I donโt know.
I kept looking in the rearview mirror, half expecting the cyclist to chase me down at 40 miles per hour.
I donโt know what I should have done. But I feel uncomfortable with how I instinctively reacted.
I want the comfort of my dad telling me itโs okay, I want the opportunity to apologise to the cyclist for being rude, and I want to know my aggressive outburst doesnโt make me a bad person.
Itโs all very confusing.
What I want the most, however, is not witnessing such acts of aggression. And not responding in kind.