About 25 years ago I was out on my road bike coming back on a training ride out to Hutto and back. I was on the Sprinkle Cut Off road, which was a narrow road that was twisty and winding and hilly and there was absolutely no room for anybody to pass me safely, so I was out in the middle of the lane. I'd already ridden about 40 miles and was tiring. As I was going up a hill this jerkoff in a pickup comes up behind me and starts gunning his engine, like he was going to run me over. I was doing probably 18 mph, hammering really, and there was no place to safely pull over. And back then I was in my "screw you, I have every legal right to this road" stage. So I kept my line. Dude keeps revving his motor and I was getting pissed off. I got up to Ferguson, made that right turn on to Ferguson, and it's a screaming downhill all the way to Cameron/Dessau. Dude was still right behind me but now he's not revving because I'm doing about 40 and he can't really go any faster than that. I got up to Cameron and right there Ferguson split into two lanes. I was making a left so I pulled up to the stop sign in the left lane. Dude pulls up in the right lane and I can see it's a burly sheetrock worker with a burly sheetrock worker friend in a 1975 Ford truck that look like it had been beat with a tire iron. I can also see that he's holding a 16 oz Busch beer in a brown paper bag. His window is rolled down and he says, in a thick, Texas drawl, "Hey little buddy' you's impedin' the flow of traffic." Now, at that moment, normally, I would have launched into my lecture about how I'm a vehicle and how in that situation ---- one narrow lane going both directions with no shoulder ---- I'm legally allowed to be in the middle of the lane and that allowing somebody to pass me would be unsafe blah blah blah. But I realized I was in my spandex and cleats and that they'd probably jump out of that truck and beat the hell out of me before I could even get off my bike. And I don't know how or where this came from or what came over me but a divine spirit seized me and I said, in an equally thick Texas drawl, "Well, the road is long and the road is narrow and all God's children gots to pass." And suddenly, the glower in his face softened as he contemplated my wise, peaceful words, which called on the inherent Christian, godly nature he no doubt thought he had, and he smiled, nodded, and said "Well that's all right, little buddy," then raised his 16 oz Busch beer in a brown paper bag to toast me.
Beat down averted.