So, there I was, enjoying life and savoring a beautiful day. The slightly-less-humid-because-it-just-rained Texas air rustled its way through my hair like the rustling of autumn-shaded leaves under a majestic Oak tree. The road was open, beckoning me to pedal down it and realize my own bike-tastic potential. The sun was shining at my back, the puddles seemed to dry up just enough to allow safe, not-entirely-soaked-rear-end passage over the path.

It seemed as if it was a biker’s paradise. The only thing missing was a strong tail wind. (Or, maybe crowds of French spectators yelling “Ole” or “Ele” or whatever the proper French sound/word/thing is for “Go faster!”- If you were a Tour ‘De France buff, you’d know what I’m talking about.)

And, so, of course, I pedaled onward. This was, in a way, my road, calling out for me to zoom down it like Lance Armstrong zoomed up Alpe d’Huez. (Look it up, if you don’t know.)

And, zoom I did.

Zoom zoom.

But, alas, there was a crisis imminently threatening to ruin my day.

There she was… an innocent looking pedestrian with an intriguing ensemble and bleach-blonde hair whimsically swirling about in the late-summer-indeterminate-season’s breeze.

If she had a name, it would have been Ms. Crisis.

She stood there, her eyes keenly trained on me… this wasn’t some sort of deer-in-the-headlights glance, not an absentminded wandering wink, or a daydreamer’s glazed-over-eyes gaze.

No.

She was looking pretty intently at me, making eye contact. The way she stood there, in the middle of the road, right in front of me, could only be described as defiant. She wasn’t lost, this wasn’t an odd misstep into the road, she was playing the role of the Tank Man, standing up against the armor ambling into Tienanmen square (In this case, a single bycyclist sprinting down the street in high-gear with little capability to stop or dramatically change course.)

Of course, I couldn’t have told you what that gaze really said, beacuse this all happened in an instant. She stepped out into the middle of the road, glanced at me, stayed in the same place, as I was simultaneously muttering “ooohhhsshhhhhhhhhh” and trying to figure out if she was going to walk across the street like a normal pedestrian or do something else.

What do you think she did?

She just stood there.

If she’d had actually walked like a normal person crossing a street would, or even taken the Barney-recommended step of looking both ways before crossing the street like a normal, sensible person would do, this blag post would never have been written.

But, no, that’d be too easy.

She stood there gazing at me, and I made one, last-ditch, heroic effort to avoid a certain collision by leaning to the left and praying. My handlebar came ever-so-precariously close to clipping her purse strap, and as she wooshed past, I turned back to either apologize or at least see if she reacted. (Standard fare for something like this, almost like how you glare at the person in front of you when they cut you off, or when that person behind you does something totally stupid and you have no ability to resist the urge to turn back and say “Really?”)

Did she react?

No.

Did she look back?

No.

She just turned and kept walking accross the street, as if she’d done this before… as if it wasn’t nescessary for her to turn around and see my reaction beacuse she’s already remembered all of the other faces of other bycyclists she successfully tricked. (Tricked into thinking they ran someone over.)

That person I almost ran into? She wasn’t a pedestrian, or a passerby, or an aimless wanderer.

She was a jaywalking pedesterrorist.

Keep your eyes open, because they’re out there… people who just stand in the middle of the road and almost cause you to crash for kicks and giggles.

Now you know.

(And knowing is half the battle.)

[Also: Sorry about the lack of posts for a day or two. I was feeling miserable and had a serious case of Writer’s Block. I won’t waste any more words on an excuse. :P]