A STORY

A number of years ago in Denver I witnessed an incident that has haunted me for years. I was driving in a line of traffic with a bicyclist forward and in the bike lane to the right of my car. The driver in front of me suddenly made a right-hand turn, cutting off the cyclist. The cyclist was able to swerve and avoid the crash but, as a result of swerving and braking, ended up lying on the roadway.

What followed was a scene that I've never forgotten. The cyclist, with the determination of a Tour de France racer, made a right turn and chased after the car which had cut him off. He caught up to the car at the next stop light. He then quickly laid his bike down and proceeded to beat on the car with his portable air pump. After doing considerable damage to the right side door, he leaped onto the hood and jumped up and down repeatedly and feverishly, all the while cursing a long string of obscenities directed at the driver. Not surprisingly, the driver was mentally and physically paralyzed by this bizarre scene.

The final act of this drama came when the cyclist kicked in the front windshield of the car then got back on his bike and rode away. For these many years I have never understood the degree of rage that could lead a person to perform the wanton act of violence that I witnessed.

That all changed this week.

Two days ago, a good friend was killed by a motorist who cut him off in an eerily similar scenario to the Denver incident.

Now I understand.

Rest in peace, Marcus.