Business died down around 3:15. Not much going on. Hangin and hangin some more…then I was called into base for an LQA and the daily FedEx run out of Pier 70. I rolled through base then up 4th Ave onto Denny, crossing Broad street a BMW changes lanes and cuts me off, no problem. Then he changes his mind and goes back, no problem but this time I’m in his side view mirror on the driver’s side and I give him a gentle brush, a little flutter with the back of my right hand and some eye contact. Still rolling with it. Then he changes his mind again and switches back to the right lane. OK whatever. He got ahead of me and probably switched lanes a few more times. Then Denny turns into three Westbound lanes. Approaching 1st Ave the light changes to red and I’m splitting lanes and rolling up to the intersection. As I roll even with Mr. BMW he's on my left and he rolls down his passenger side window. I’ve got nothing to say to him but I’m interested to hear what he has for me. So I feather the front brake and hover with him for a moment. He’s got nothing for me but a great big grin. I’m not sure if he’s looking for an apology or going to offer me one, but all the while I’m thinking: if I wasn’t such a seasoned professional, I’d have a few things for you buddy…bodily fluids, empty containers, a U-lock, hand gestures, and an unprecedented string of profanities. He had obviously never dealt with an urban cyclist in a similar situation because he would not have opened that potential can of whoop ass through the passenger side window of his beautiful BMW by rolling it down for me in traffic. Apparently his driving style hasn’t proven its inefficiency yet. Perhaps he just moved back from LA and he still jumps on the chance to change lanes for no reason.
I rolled on. Through that light. Through the next one and then ghost locked at 200 2nd West. Holding the legal documents in my hand I stood and waited for my buddy to roll by on his way to his huge house in Magnolia.(the one he paid cash for I’m guessing with the profits from the townhouse he recently sold in Culver City) When he finally did I gave him my victory salute and he shook his fist at me. I won. Clean. Smooth. Professional. Not a word out of my mouth, not a stutter in my pedal stroke. He didn’t learn much from our encounter. Next time he may not be so lucky.
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