Biker’s Revenge

This is not my story.  It belongs to a user named Bounce from the CBR Forums.  I’m not a CBR forum member, but this story was cross-posted on another board I frequent.  Here’s a link to the original thread, and Bounce’s story is about halfway down.  Now, to make it quicker for everyone, I’ll reproduce the story:

I used to commute from Orange County into Downtown LA.  Actually…that commute is what got me back on bikes (I rode dirt bikes as a kid, but hadn’t been on a bike in 10 years when I took the job in LA).  60 miles each way and probably 40 of that is lane splitting [biker slang – riding on the white lines between lanes of stopped traffic – legal and/or tolerated in some areas of the country but usually rare – TB] to one degree or another.  I had a little 600 Suzuki Bandit. POS bike, but cheap and it did the job…and was comfortable enough that I could sit on it for an extended period of time without having to fold up like a pretzel like I do on the RR.

Anyway…I was at a freeway interchange and traffic went from 2 lanes to 1, then merged onto a different freeway.  Usually, I’d split up to the point where traffic went from 2 lanes to 1, then I’d filter back in with traffic and wait to get on the next freeway.  It was winter and the morning temps were in the 40’s.  I didn’t really know about good motorcycle-specific cold-weather gear, so I was basically wearing about 3 layers of stuff under my leather jacket. (plus a full face helmet, gloves, etc).  I looked like the friggin’ Michelin man with all those layers on.

So…I’m splitting up to the merge and I see a guy about 10 cars up in a new white Infinity watching me in his mirror.  Usually, that’s a bad sign.  Sure enough, when I got there, he lurched left, blocking my path.  No big deal, really. I stopped and was going to just sit there waiting for traffic to start going again. He’s an asshole, but in 45 seconds, he’ll still be sitting there and I’ll be on my way again, so what do I care?

But he was livid.  He rolled the window down and started SCREAMING at me.  I mean…he was PISSED.  He’s yelling and cussing about how I don’t have any right to do that (which, I did, of course…it’s California and splitting is legal.)  Then he reached across and threw something at me.  Now…remember, I’m bundled up like the little brother from Christmas whatever it was just hit my arm and fell onto my leg between my leg and the tank and I didn’t feel a thing.  I looked down:  It was an unopened can of Hawaiian Punch.

I picked it up and thought for a minute.  Do I open it and take a drink…just drop it and go….put it in my pocket.  This is a defining moment in my life…what do I do?

Then I remembered the joke:
Q: What do you do with the hand grenade the Polish Army threw at you?
A: Pull the pin and throw it back.

I popped the top open, and tossed it end-over-end back through his window.

The look on his face as RED Hawaiian Punch spewed all over his brand new WHITE interior was just precious.  Then it hit the passenger door and RED punch exploded up the side of the door, into the headliner, and basically all over everything.

With that, I snicked the bike back into gear, swerved and went across in front of the car to my left, onto the shoulder, and accelerated onto the freeway.

About 3 miles later, I was laughing so hard I had to pull over and catch my breath.

It’s the simple things in life that you treasure.    Grin

Now that is a funny comeuppance, folks.  Huzzah for Bounce!


One Response

  1. I love when bastards get it.

    A friend went down a couple of years ago when someone swerved in front of him. He was okay but road rashed to shit.

    Another friend got hit dead on and crushed his leg. I’m visiting him in the hospital when his girlfriend, a nurse, comes in with lunch for she and I.

    We’re next to the bed facing the door. A guy walks up, looks at the patient, looks at his leg, looks at the girlfriend and I, looks at the leg again, then says,

    “You’re fucking sick!”

    Before walking out and never coming back.

    It wasn’t until then we noticed that the pasta we were eating looked amazingly like his leg.

    OOookey dokey!

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