So as promised, here’s the update on trying to get an interview or statement from Charlotte Mecklenburg Police. I haven’t heard anything new.

Moving along, I did some man-on-the-street interviews uptown this week. I was trying to get a feel for people’s opinions of delivery cyclists. I got a story from a guy who got cussed out by a cyclist. I had a couple people say they had no problem with the delivery drivers. And I had a couple basically singing their praises. But in trying to put it all together into an audio story — well, it’s just not working. I’m scrapping it.

Well here’s an unpublished story from July 12. It actually relates to something that happened at work today.

—

Today I got in a shouting match with a guy in a black luxury car. I was riding slowly towards a red light when I heard a honk behind me. This happens once or twice a shift, and usually I either ignore it completely or just wave sarcastically, as if I think I know the person, as if I just misunderstood their honk.

But today I snapped. I was already hot and grumpy and tired. I felt just ornery and just playful enough to screw with somebody. I turned around, made eye contact, and said, “What? You got a problem?” The man was blond, clean cut, 30s: the average uptown jerk. I saw him gesture and speak as he sped up and pulled around a parked car and alongside my right.

“You’re blocking the road,” I heard him say between my agitated shouting. “I have as much right to the road as you do. I have as much right to the road as you!” I responded.

The entire exchange lasted two seconds. It was just enough time for the car window to roll down a mere 3 inches and roll right back up. I managed to restrain myself from physically attacking the car, which made a quick right. But temptation flashed through my head as pedaled through the light. I saw the car stopped at a light a block away. I would chase him down and chuck the orange I had in my bag as a snack.

“No, that’s the kind of hot headed thinking that broke your wrist,” I had to remind myself. “That’s a story that doesn’t end well.”

I rode on, shaking my head at the man, marveling at my own rage. He was making a right. I was just in his way to get to the right lane. I had assumed he was ignorantly demanding I ride on the sidewalk, but I realized that probably wasn’t the case at all. I felt dumb, and I resolved not to be so reactionary next time.

—

This is a struggle I’ve had for a while. Something about the adrenaline, and the fear — I’m not an angry person until someone endangers me on my bike. I had a similar thing happen today. Black car. Ran around me and honked. I caught up with him at a light.

“You got a problem? Let’s talk,” I said. He rolled down his window. “I signaled. Did you not see me?” “I didn’t see your signal,” the guy said back. “Well pay more attention,” I said, and with that he rolled up his window, and I got back in my lane. I rode back to the shop ultra-quick, shaking from adrenaline, from the charge of confrontation, but that was it. No real yelling, no swearing. I think I’m getting better at this!