Perception of Hazards

Bloody Week

It all started on Wednesday; not the week, of course because that started on the Monday as weeks traditionally do, but the difficult and noteworthy week all came about from the middle day of the week. I had a gentile start to the commute but made a single aggressive launch onto the Fareham end of the Gosport stretch of the A32 to avoid a hap-hazard red light: I just made it and didn't upset anyone.

Along we progressed and onto the urban dual carriageway. A slow filter into the centre and a crawl along the early-morning dazed commuters; eyes open to jittery attempts to swap lanes and blind lurches to do the same. No trouble; a set of typically well-behaved and bike-savvy road colleagues let us through unhurried but, then...

She made good eye contact in the mirror but the car had already caught my eye from 3-lengths back. I was (thank God) approaching with high caution. I changed lanes behind her from left to right and gave a hesitation to allow her to do the same but she seemed fast in the left. More eye contact; she'd let me through. The acceleration was barely perceptible as I moved along her right side and again, good eye contact from her wing mirror before she began to crawl right: rigght into my lane along side me. It wasn't an aggressive lurch, nor was it a malevolent jab. This was the smooth and concentrated squeeze of a Queen bitch at work where she fits best - out on the wide open commute with poor defenceless bikers to whom she owes a debt of ill-temper and credible malice a fore thought.

I dodged (gently - I wasn't actually surprised, more disappointed) and conjugated the effect of kicking her rear wing to grab her attention. But, would I then be breaking the Law, or would the force of my kick (equal and opposite, and all that) unseat me in an embarrassed (and still in trouble with the Law) pile of white cracked fairings on the wrong side of the road?

I decided she deserved, if not had a right to the right of way. Sensible. "Fine", I declared. I hooted just to symbolise my annoyance and reaffirm my masculinity among other commuters who I felt need a certain degree of reminding this behaviour is unsavoury but she was stead-fast in her now rigid neck forward position to ignore any harm she may have caused. (Bitch).

Next, and immediately so, Gave space to an arctic truck in the left who was obviously turning right. Good form would be for them to stay in the left lane around the junctioned roundabout and continue in the left lane as a slower vehicle. Once half-way around the curve I took the driver's skill to include excellent lane discipline and maneuvering around his vast girth safely on his own side of the white lines and commenced a quick (if bumpy there) overtake to exit the junction safely in the right-hand lane. About mid-drift, however, and without so much as an excuse me, or look-see along his indie line, he swapped ideas from "Mr Safety" to "Mr Fuck-you arse hole on a bike I'm going to squish you like a fly under my shoe". I survived through extraordinary wit and deft braking on the bank.

Along toward Wickham and an easy overtake before the hill drops in to the 30mph zone and double white lines stop all the fun. The old dear at the wheel, transfixed by my big white bike pasing by up her right-hand-side steered in to me. Thanks.

A couple of late junction emergence's ahead (used to them, but still unnerving) I edged along a line of slow traffic past the wood yard to the "S"s at the Waterworks, chipping back in at about 60mph, braking to 50 for the entry and carrying momentum to the second bump ready to open a little toward the faster switch-back and exit from the curve complex. Slightly damp under tyre; leaf-fall from the night's breeze across the line; not a problem, cut within the litter. "Blimey!" A tractor with a regulation yellow winky-pot and hedge trimmer with no warning sign or ability at keeping well in straddling the white line within my breaking distance (yeah, kinda my fault here, but...)

Heading down into Droxford and move to overtake a Juggernaut. Just 3/4 the way along his side at a (now cautious) dawdle and he hits the bank with his front wheels and careens into my carriageway - and still further making an emergency stop the order of the day with a wiggle for good measure. Now it's time for a stop and a fag - shame I don't smoke.

Parked lorry in village with settee suddenly poking around its back end; wrongly indicating gentleman with a one-track mind at Corehampton, overtaking on-coming over the crest into Warnford, speeding cut-up at the brow of Privet hill (while slowing for top junction where 4x4 was oncoming turning across us while dick-head tried to prematurely cull his overtaking us), and then a cup of tea to calm down (very angry) shortly after. Then we began to trundle along the A31 and soon turned off for an early drop into the country roads for my first stop of the day - and there was the horse, out of control ridden by a gentle lady with no helmet looking very calm while all beneath her gave way into mayhem and manure.

It was a most hazardous day - the worst - and would have made a good training run for the dam busters.

Extraordinary And then there was Thursday, which honestly got worse. We survived and we should have a t-shirt made to celebrate.