Here’s a copy and paste from a Facebook post. Not quite Shakespearean, but a satisfying rant:

I’ve had a couple days now to process the most memorable moment of my 101 mile bike ride on Friday. About 90 miles in I was southbound at the old Bundy’s gravel pit on co. Rt 23 between Sherb 4 and n. Norwich. A huge red dump truck rolled up to pull out of the driveway, then stopped to let me pass. After I passed he (just a guess) pulled out and accelerated to a position about 8 feet behind me. I was on the edge of the pavement and so was he, directly lined up to run over me. Wide open 2 lanes, no oncoming traffic. He then LAID on the air horn and swung around me, driving me into the gravel and missing me by about 3 feet. Too scared and rattled (and tired) to get a license#. Red truck, and I’d be willing to go $100 I could smell Trump stink coming out of the cab. Intolerance and bullying abuse of any and all who don’t conform 100% to their puny lifestyle. Fuck you. Sharpen up your rebel flag staff and drive it into your skull. Let the Klan culture drip out so the flies can get at it.

2 responses to this post.

  1. Not that I want truth, you understand. I can be just as entertained by a well-honed – even feverish – imagination. But here’s a guy who took a quite serious bike ride, finding himself persecuted by a redneck. That should have been almost enough for me; I shudder, seeing myself on that bike, and I take things to the point where the redneck and I have words and he finds out I come from one of those sissy places where they do a lot of talking and reading. And nuthin’ much else. In the movie he’s played by Ernest Borgnine.

    But if the dump truck is (metaphorically speaking) recognisably Trump-driven, how about the bike? Or in that neck of the woods are all bikes ridden by pointy-headed intellectuals, with their brief-cases, whom Gov. Wallace long long ago said he would toss into the Potomac once he got elected president? Or was the bike rider wearing a Hilary sticker? Or a Ralph Lauren polo-neck? In short, what was going on in the dump truck driver’s mind? If anything.

    Just did something I didn’t ought to. Watched a TV documentary by a well-respected BBC correspondent on Donald Trump, Can he possibly get elected? Remember all those Trump one-liners you’ve seen and heard randomly on TV news? Here they were woven into an elegant montage: simple, mendacious but utterly persuasive to the sort of people whose lips move when they read. A recognisable and coherent political philosophy. My jaw dropped and stayed dropped. Later the reporter asked one quite normal resident of Ohio’s Rust Belt: “Is he going to win?” The resident shrugged: “Oh sure, by a landslide.”

    Tell me it ain’t so, MikeM. Puh-lease.


    • No, we’re going to crush him like a cockroach. I held my middle finger aloft until the SOB was out of sight. Couldn’t lure him back. Not sure what I would have done if he had stopped to chat. A kamikazee run entered my mind immediately, as did the epithet most widely recognized here in the US as the MOST degrogatory and unacceptable. I also considered fleeing if he stopped.


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