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From: doosh@shellx.best.com (Tom Holub)
Newsgroups: rec.bicycles.soc,rec.bicycles.misc,ba.bicycles,ba.transportation,ca.driving
Subject: Re: assaults on bicyclists
Date: 14 Jun 1996 09:37:55 -0700
Organization: Best Internet Communications
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In article <4prq6i$lmh@noc2.drexel.edu>,
Dave Mays <st92lbwr@dunx1.ocs.drexel.edu> wrote:
)Here's an interesting case.....
)
)
)One morning on my way to work in Philadelphia, I nearly got into a VERY 
)BAD situation.  It's a 2 mile ride from my house to the Tfrnklin 
)Institute where I work.  Most of that ride is on Ben Franklin Parkway.  
)This particular morning, some asshole in a Cadillac nearly ran me off the 
)road, narrowly missing me by about 6 inches, (I was in the shoulder) and 
)then blew his horn to signify that I was in his way or whatever. 

                  Copyright (c) 1989 by Robert Fishell
	     Excerpt from "Spike Bike--Lord of the Rednecks"
		       Used without permission

     [In the year 1998, one man fights the tyrrany of the automobile]
 ---

     I heard it before I saw it.  An ancient  Cadillac  convertible  was
closing very quickly from the rear.  There was nothing ancient about its
electronics; at least 1000 watts of amplifier power screamed raunchy C&W
from  god knows how many speakers. It sounded even worse for the doppler
shift; he was doing at least 100.  That was stupid.   He  would  try  to
clip me in the side, because people in snazzy cars always try to clip me
in the side, and at that speed, he wouldn't  be  able  to  maneuver.   I
feinted  to  the  left when he closed to within a few hundred feet, then
cut right abruptly when he'd committed himself.  He missed me by a  good
four  feet.  As he roared past, I opened up on the tires with my MAC-10,
shredding them.  The Caddy swerved crazily, rolled over twice, and  slid
off  the  road  upside down. Crazy as it seemed, that godawful music was
still blaring out from the wreckage.  I fired another burst into the gas
tank,  and  the  racket  stopped  as the wreck went up in a huge ball of
orange flame.  The driver's Stetson hat lay in the road perhaps 50  feet
away,  virtually  undamaged -- unlike the driver, who had no further use
of it.  I emptied the rest of the mag  into  it,  chasing  it  down  the
asphalt, cutting it to scraps.  Sure as shootin', I was in Texas.

     I'm Spike Bike.  I hate cars. I don't care much for C&W, either.