The solo race

Along the road that descends from San Marcello towards Jesi (Province of Ancona, Central Italy), a guy on a bicycle gloriously runs away: he is not just anyone on a bicycle, he is one of those who pay for tight clothing that advertises something and go around like cyclists who, on the contrary, are the ones getting paid for wearing advertising clothes.

Now, this cyclist was annoyed because I hadn’t stopped to let him pass in his glorious solo race, and, instead, I had bypassed him well away and set the signal well in time to turn right, forcing him to slow down or even stop if necessary.

Instead, he passed forcibly, counting on my own stop, and yelling against me, who obviously had paid attention to him, as I had guessed the character.

I would have liked to teach him that cyclists are already wrong by simply running on these roads, and that impunity doesn’t mean they are right.

Also, I would have taught the meaning of turn signals on cars, as well as the function of brakes on bicycles.

Above all, however, I would have liked to teach him that, despite the conviction of being right, the heap of insults does not reveal a great elegance, and indeed, not even a sufficient level of manners.

But I’m not a teacher, my job is a different one.

Anyway, the guy with curly and reddish beard and hair didn’t stop, perhaps because he became aware that a man in another car was travelling with me.