Well, another weekend has come and gone - this one slightly more eventful than usual. Saturday I went for an 85 mile bike ride, out west of London. All was peachy keen and wonderful, and I didn't even get much chafing, thanks to Chafe-Ease. (There is a Santa Claus!).
Sunday was slightly more eventful... Robin and I went to the Starbucks in Vauxhall to meet Allen, so we could sit around feeling morally superior and watch trashed queens stumble out of the clubs into the morning sun ("Yes, I've got schaenfreude on line 1..."). That was good for a few hours of laughs, watching grey-faced, doe-eyed, sunglassed muscle-marys take their first, ginger steps into the daylight. Unfortunately, a group of them then decided to hang around out front of Starbucks, one of them lounging all over Robin's bike. So, we decided it was time to get the bikes and leave. Anyway, Captain Drugfucked sort of stumbles hither and yon, bumps into me, then ends up getting belligerent at Allen when he tried to prevent the guy from falling on me. We try to just walk away, but the guy takes a kick at Allen as we cross the street, and narrowly misses getting hit by a bus. Pity. So, Robin and I head off on our bikes to Enfield for an afternoon of chav-watching and bargain hunting at TKMaxx. Alas, the bargains were not to be found, nor were many chavs. We took the hilly but scenic route to Enfield, but Robin whined, so we took the flat, busy and generally shitty route back, that heads back through a number of not so salubrious neighborhoods.
We get to this very busy intersection, where traffic is all stacked up and not going anywhere... I weave through the traffic (as one does on a bike), and Robin follows behind, a little wobblier still... I see him wobble a bit behind me, in my mirror, but he keeps going, so I keep going through the intersection. I stop on the far side of the intersection, where it's safe to do so and wait for Robin. He doesn't show. After a minute or so, a woman on a bike rides by and says, 'your friend is having some trouble with a driver back there'. Fearing the worst, I turn around (through absolutely gridlocked traffic) and head back. I arrive to find Robin arguing with a young Turkish (I think) many in a 2001 Z3. According to the man (hereafter known as Young, Dumb and Full of Cum, or YDaFC), Robin had fallen off his bike and caused damage on the car's rear bumper. First problem is, Robin didn't actually fall off his bike, but was, in fact, tackled by this man when he kept on riding after wobbling a bit and knocking into the car with his knee. Robin didn't tell me at the time he'd been tackled though. I point out to YDaFC that the damage is, in fact, dirt, which I wipe off. He then finds some minor scratch underneath the bumper that Robin supposedly caused. I point out this would be physically impossible unless Robin had gone under the car, which, given that he was still standing, he most likely did not. I suggest to Robin that the guy is an idiot and we should just leave. He blocks my way and gets up in my face - threatens me with violence and threatens then to call the police. Robin says, 'please do'. The guy realizes we've called his bluff, so I call the police instead. This argument goes on and on and on, the guy demanding money from Robin. I call the police twice, as they are not showing up. Then the guy calls his older and bigger friend who shows up and starts threatening to damage our bikes, to punch us, blah blah blah. Fortunately, this is in the middle of a very busy intersection, but it's still a little worrying. I tell the guy that if he does anything he'll be done for assault and to get out of my face and stop threatening me - meanwhile trying to figure how I might manage to get my chain lock off my waist to beat him with it if possible (not very likely). The two of them are stringing together a whole pack of lies about what Robin supposedly did to bumper of the car. Fortunately, a police van happens to go by, on the way to a burlgary. YDaFC flags it down. Three cops come over, and YDaFC tells his amazing story. I suggest to the cops that there are, in fact, two rather different stories, and Robin tells his. The police have a look at the bumper, and, in not so many words, tell the guy to quit being an ass and wasting their time. They suggest that he could file a civil suit, but as Robin is not driving a car, he is under no obligation to provide his address, whereas YDaFC is. At this point, thoroughly humiliated in front of us and three nice white cops, our two antagonists drive off. Robin and I linger for a bit, long enough to tell the cops about the threats of violence, then we take a very circuitous route home, as I'm sure our Turkish friends would likely kill us if they came across us again. Anyway, no damage was done and no one was hurt. We did require ice cream after that, however, and will probably not be frequenting that neighborhood much in the immediate future. Someone once said never argue with a drunk or a fool. They were right.