Racing you would be like a ten year old kid pushing over a toddler and laughing because the littler kid is weak.
I don't need to outrun you to know I can. That's why I don't. There is only one truck-like vehicle I would be interested in racing, and that's Mr. T's van. I hear it's hella fast...
On my ride home today I had two trucks (at different times) diligently racing to stay in front of me, as if I couldn't blow past them without even getting into the Triumph's powerband.
Now, the reason this irks me so much is that these small-pee-pee-havin'-inbreds that need to prove whatever-it-is put me in a dangerous/frustrating situation. I end up stuck right next to a blowhard in a huge chunk of rolling metal. My options are to:
- Speed and get in front of the truck. Yeah, right. Because I like tailgaters. And guys who think I've just threatened their masculinity in some way. Speeding in front of them means I have to continue going fast to stay away from the jerks.
- Fall back. Yeah, right. Because I like tailgaters and screwing up the flow of my own ride to stay behind Steve-Dave and Sue-Ann-Jo-Jo.
- Hang out and hope I don't get run over. Yeah, right. As if I trust any of the other slack-jawed morons on the road.