Just a ride home

The end of the day began as a perfectly normal beginning of the end of the day. The Blaze, my ride for the day, trinned to an uneven sort of start without problems. The ride home was uneventful to the extreme (just like yours Sriku), the Blaze surprising me with the amount of grip it had on the wet, slick roads. And with the ride quality, which only gets scooter-bouncy over the worst stuff.

I turn right, about two km from home on a road that's been under construction for the past three years at least. Its fairly steep uphill for about two hundred metres, and then snakes gently for the rest of the two kilometres home. With trucks and tempos perpetually parked, it's always narrow, but not always slow.

I turn onto this road, rear wheel spinning up slightly and go around three or four cars from the left, using the autorickshaw sized hole between the construction marking corrugated sheets and the cars. No worries. Then I spot a beat-up old autorickshaw struggling uphill. There's a gap, and I use it to get around it and ahead, passing the auto on the right. Ahead, there's a bus slowly inching through the worst of the road, at the crest. Behind him is a white Zen and then me.

Then I feel something tilting the scooter to the left. I whip around to see an Esteem slowly inching uphill, unaware that it's already made contact. My piercing bellow gets the fool's attention - he's been yakking away with the fat lady in the passenger seat. No harm done. Yet. He raises in hand in a casual, 'Oops!' and inches another couple of well, inches ahead. Now he is touching my riding pants with the bumper.

'WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU?'

This time, he stops altogether. I pull ahead, and check the damage - none. Great.

The bus is still snail-pacing through the bad stuff. I spot a gap on the right and head in to see if I can get around the bus with space to spare. Halfway through, I realise it's futile. I stop, put the foot down and wait for him to finish.

When he does, I do a lifesaver check. The Zen is still wobbling through and I've got more than ten car lengths of space. So I pull in behind the bus.

A few seconds later... rising hair on the back of my neck.

I frantically check my mirrors... nothing. I turn my head. The effing Zen driver is three inches off to my right, taking up the same position as I - one car length from the Bus. WTF?

I pull slightly left to give him space. He takes it, gratefully I assume, and slowly keeps pulling left until he's about three inches off again. Double WTF?

I hold position waiting for him to back off. He doesn't oblige. I have some time to turn and look at him. He's ignoring me. This is not funny, he's got an axe to grind. Against what?

He makes a mistake. He changes gear out of sync with the bus, and suddenly I'm in the middle of the lane. The left side is dug up, with debris lying about. I've left less than half a car's width on the right. He can't run parallel anymore. I'm safe.

Not. He pulls into the debris-filled space and I hear him gun the engine and take up the same position on the my left. The car's shuddering from the debris, but he isn't backing off. And this time, I sense him turning the wheel and inch ever closer to the scooter. What is this guys problem?

My chest is burning with acid, adrenaline is coursing like water from broken dam. My mouth has gone dry, and tastes sour. The brain's volume has been rising. And it's now at the 'Are you Nuts?' setting. Ironically, that's also what it's thinking, mostly.

I rapidly consider my options. I don't know what the problem is, so stopping is out. I'm not up for a fist-fight. I could simply let him past. No, that's out. Its wet and the Blaze, though it has a disc, won't be a match if he decides to brake test me. Or he could just stop, leaving me no choice but the fist fight I don't want. No, I've to stay ahead of this arsehole. Besides if he is just jousting for the prized place behind the bus, I cannot let him off thinking that scaring bikers out of space is the way to get it. No, I've got to stay ahead of this arsehole. I take another look into the car, his wife is seated, looking fairly worried in the front seat. Two kids, oblivious, are gambolling in the back seat. Is this guy nuts? A family nut, even?

He tries to pull across at a minor intersection, I deny him by ducking into the space just before the intermittent median begins again. The bus parks up at a stop, I pull over quietly behind the bus. He does too. Still two inches off to my left, and still staring pointedly ahead. I take the time to review what I could've done to piss him off. I come up with zip. Overtaking the bus is no option either. What the fuck do I do?

Some sort of straw breaks the camel's back in the next two hundred metres. Home is only four hundred metres away. The bus speeds up and suddenly, we're playing chicken at over 50 kph. This is insane. Fortunately, I'm on the right. I spot a break in the median, pull smoothly into the empty oncoming traffic lane. I sense him prepare to make the same move. So I don't acclerate past just yet. I hang just outside enough to keep an eye on the oncoming side of the road. I'm waiting... for something...

Then I see a scooter coming the other way. I flash my lights at him. He pulls over a bit. Like a typical Indian rider, he chooses to give me only as much space as he thinks I can squeeze through. Perfect. I've never been more thankful for the Blaze's motor. The scooter surges smoothly ahead, the bus a welcome red blur on my left. I see a headlight wink out from behind the bus. And then hear a faint screeching sound as he spots the indifferent scooter rider.

It's done. A deep sort of relief is marked on the edges by the urgency of needing to get off this road. Not slowing for anything the road throws up, I work through traffic like a hot knife through butter. Moments later I smoothly pull into my society compound, and heft the Blaze onto the center stand and realise that my hands are shaking.

If he'd as much as touched the Blaze, I'd have been in serious trouble.

But I survived. I kept my wits about me for as long as needed. Now is not that time. My hands are shaking. My chest is heaving with intense, piercing, almost painful relief. And the effing brain won't shut up, 'Let's go find that dick and ask him why?'