Rode to work in even heavier rain than yesterday, though for the same reason- this new raincoat really does make it bearable. Anyway, riding up Shire-Oak Hill I was followed by a gigantic artic. It had one of those American tractors with the long-nosed bonnet and monster exhausts that rumbled so deeply you could feel it right through your body. It was towing one of those low trailers bearing a machine that lays tarmac. That payload was also of mammoth size- it overlapped the footpath that I was riding on a bit. I wonder how many women are impressed this sort of thing; there is a primeval wonder about this, just like there is on hearing a 34 litre engine with open pipes go by(say, er, a Spitfire). Picture the whole scene with red tail lights and multiple repeated red specks in the drops on your eyeshades, a deep deep rumble  in your ears and the irregular patter-pat sound of rain on your coat. Red brake lights were the only colours on that hill; all else was the molten grey of wet road and landscape. Most cars are metallic grey these days too.
I wowed even more when the beast turned left at the traffic lights at the top of the hill. It had eight wheels at the back of the trailer, they steered right as the front turned left. More "WOW"s, it cleared the kerb on the tight turn by inches (a few). That was the climax in my transport-porn experience today.
It’s the original meaning of heavy-metal. Are things like this gorgeous, or is it just me?

I got shouted at by an irate driver coming home. Interesting was the opener for his argument: "Why do you think the council built that cycle-path?" What does it matter the reason, it is a dangerous route, and I do have the right to exercise the choice not to use it. Riding in the road didn’t cause anybody any inconvenience, least of all – him on that wide stretch of road. He didn’t offer any reasons why I should use the path as an alternative, so I was left with the apparent rationale- "the council put it there so you are obliged to use it". Maybe that’s not what he was thinking, but if it was… perhaps he got it from the Daily Mail. I wasn’t interested in getting to the bottom of his thinking since he was aggressively shouting at me for something harmless.

The conflict ended after some social un-niceties, finally with him inadvertently declaring himself a bigger wanker than me. That left me with the perilous task of making a right turn at lights while trying not to laugh too hysterically.

It’s Friday afternoon, the weekend starts now: be in a good mood old boy.