I had neither crap, cash, nor a crapload of cash in my pocket.
The safest lane for a motorcycle is the far-left lane. Not today. Apparently, a lot of people were in a "20 miles over? meh" hurry. I stopped counting after the 97th car tried to crawl up my, err... tailpipe. (OK, I didn't count. It's just a low estimate.)
And the guy who tried to read the label on my jeans for 40 miles, but refused to pass until I actually pulled into a turnout? Charmer.
"Perhaps you were riding too slowly," you think. Reasonable assumption -- after all, I'm a girl on a giant tricycle, right?
I checked that too.
My speedometer was quite clearly in the "this could be pricey" zone.
Maybe if they realized I was in the midst of a 310-mile killing spree, they would have backed off. Shown a little patience.
|Evidence of many satisfying splats.|