I wrote last week about a bit of a near miss with an angry lip-reading van driver. That occasion ended well, with no physical damage and only the scars that harsh words can leave. I’m guess it’s not the first time that that particular van driver has been sworn at so I’m not feeling too bad about it in the scheme of things.
Sometimes these things don’t go so well. One evening I remember as sunny, but might not have been, I rode home and used my usual short bit of broken-glass strewn cycle-path which cuts through a small North London transport interchange. It’s always been a short cut to not take too fast, but which avoids an awkward junction and leads you neatly into a park.
On this occasion I had noticed the large slightly unsteady man crossing the pavement, but had judged him together enough to see me, and the busses next to me, coming. He hadn’t. He wobbled to the edge of the pavement, lunged forward under my wheels and then saw me. He jerked back but my handlebar caught his take-away and sent it to the road.
He was not impressed.
Having managed to block my way somehow, as I’d slowed down and been thrown slightly off balance by the food-collision, he demanded that I bought him more food. I, perhaps stupidly, refused as it would have involved a trip to a cash point and I had no wish to go there with someone like him. He threatened to take my bike, which I kept firmly between my legs, although what he would have done with it I have no idea. All the while he had managed to clutch me round the throat and was holding me there.
I continued to try to reason with him through his generally booze-soaked breath, but I was quickly realising that I was failing. The initial adrenaline was failing and I was beginning to panic a little, and weigh up my options. I had figured it was busy in the bus station so I shouldn’t be in too much trouble. But so far no-one had paid any attention as far as I could tell. Mind you, to be honest, I was watching him rather more closely than I was the people around me.
My salvation came in the shape of an arguably even scarier man, in designer sunglasses and jeans. I wouldn’t have wanted to be on his bad side, and I didn’t fancy the drunk’s chances with him, but I didn’t hang around to find out what would happen. As soon as I was let go and told to get going I fled. I’m not too proud to get the hell away when it’s that scary.
A
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