A few blocks farther along, we dinged our bike bells and waved at a parking enforcement officer, then half a second later had a bit of an Abbott-and-Costello "After you"/"No, no, after you"/"I insist, after you"/"Because of the California pedestrian right-of-way law YOU HAVE THE DAMN RIGHT OF WAY, SO AFTER YOU thank you have a lovely afternoon!" incident with a couple in a crosswalk which wound up with Pirate grabbing his brakes too hard and almost dropping his bike in an effort not to ride into me ("So sorry, our fault!" called the pedestrians). And as this was going on, a bicyclist rode past and said something I didn't catch.
We got back up to speed after the pedestrian incident, heading up Grand towards Broadway, and Pirate said, "What did he say?"
"Huh?" I said, looking ahead at the bicyclist who'd passed us and realizing it was Mr. Lane-Blocker. "I don't know, I was too busy trying not to run into those two."
A few blocks on, at Grand and Broadway, we caught up with Mr. The Road Is My Living Room and a small group of riders he'd met up with. He
As I was in the kitchen preparing some berries for the freezer right now, I had a flash of insight and a wave of compassion wash over me.
That poor guy. He was expecting whatever he said to hit us, whang! omigod, he nailed us, dude! He so pegged us and stuck a dart into our self-righteous expectations of (I dunno, unobstructed traffic lanes or something).
Only we were so absorbed in what was going on with the pedestrians, we honestly didn't hear or notice what he said.
Poor guy. Sorry the zinger didn't hit the way you meant it to.