I think something happens to us when our blood is pumping fast, as in when carving. I know I have talked to a friend about how aggressive we become on the bike paths while jocky-ing for space.
That kid had been doing slow circles in the middle of the bike bath, both lanes. When I came upon him he started racing me in the pedestrian lane. He then waited and waited and waited and then turned right in front of me -- I couldn't stop. I was going too fast in my left curve of the carve. You see, I couldn't swerve right.
At that point a slew of brown words came shooting out of my mouth. I saw his red bike in the white sand. He was running back to his parent who was no where to be seen. I think he decided he was too far from mom and turned back. Who knows.
I didn't want to deal with an angry parent so I rode on. The kid was okay, it really was a slow hit, and he fell in the soft sand. I didn't even fall off the Trikke.
I was caught not at my best by only one witness, a kind bike guy who stopped to make sure everyone was okay. There was a very peaceful look on his face, I felt better for seeing him there. And yet I continued my salty tirade about that kid aiming for me for quite a distance. His look said take a breath, and I did. Then I smiled and rode on.
My blood was pumping fast as I was angry and just missed falling off the Trikke again. It was very hot. I felt like I was going to barf. My heart was all spent by the time I got to the pier, which was the half-way point.
I didn't want to go back the way I had come for two reasons: the wind was strong and the kid with his angry mother.
I am not proud of myself today. I was my father in that moment. I may have scarred a kid for life.
Afterthought -- I wasn't completely like my father, he'd have chased me down and beat me.
