Idiot bakkie driver!

A day or so ago, I stopped at the Highveld One-Stop on the R21 south to ad some 93 unleaded to the fuel tank of my Ford bakkie. I was a commuting motorist because I had to cart more bags of cement than the Suzuki's topbox could handle. Anyway, there I was having just expressed my wishes regarding the required motion lotion to the pump attendant, standing around bothering no one when a youngster, hencefort being described as a piepiejoller, on a CBR600RR slithers to a halt next to me.

He is clearly very, very excited to see me as he almost kicks his poor pillion in the face in his hurry to dismount his red steed, in his excitement to get to me for a chat. He storms up up to me, ripping his gloves and helmet off, almost taking his ears off in the process and roars at me.

Piepiejoller: "You %&&*&^ baboon! You almost killed me back there!!!"

Me, rather perplexed: "I did? Where? Can't remember seeing you."

I was rather concerned at this stage as I am a biker myself and would hate to think that I didn't see one, just because I am caging. Janee. Would not like that one bit. I mean, we bikers should never make such a mistake.  We would not, would we?

Piepiejoller: "That is the fI*&ing problem with you f(*(&*heads in your f(&*P_ing cars!!! Always the same f(*&*()P old ^*^&& excuse!!! I did not see you! I did not see you! K@rk! You (&**&_ are just a (&*__) blind peoph*l!!!" (The swearing is too much work to type so I will just use a single * to indicate lots and lots of swearing)

Me: "Nooit! I really did not see you. What did I do and where?"

Piepiejoller: "You * changed * lanes to * pass that * brick truck back there, just before * Nellmapius you *! I was * Next to * you and you almost * knocked me off my * bike. You almost * killed my * wife and * me!!!!"

Me: "Nooit boetie. Could not have been me. I wasn't ....." 

Piepiejoller: "* * * * old * fart! Of course it was * you. I will * recognise this * white piece of * Ford diesel k*k anywhere. By the way, apart from a * new owner and * driver, it needs a * tune up! You blew my face full of * filthy * diesel * smoke! If you werent't this old I would ** you"

Me: "Uhm ...."

At this stage I sort of knew I had him in a terrible corner, but me, being me, thought it prudent to allow him to vent properly (I am kind that way) as the kid clearly had issues. His young wife, was standing to the side, behind my bakkie, frantically trying to indicate something to him urgently.  He was way to close to foaming around the mouth to even notice her.

Piepiejoller: "* * * * * cager * * * * * !!!"

He went on a bit like this while I plead my innocense, although everytime before I could lower the boom on him, he would interupt me and I absolutely hate being interupted, so I just kept quiet from here om..

He almost crapped his pants, foamed ariound the mouth, threatened truly vicious violence that would have the Chairman of Sadists Anonymous break out in a cols sweat and was now bordering on a heart attack. By now we had quite a crowd of spectators as well. Some big eyed. Some giggling. His poor wife was now in tears, so I decided to take pity on her.  I mean, she was a pretty young thing, not guilty of anything and clearly in distrress.  It was time to bury Mr Piepiejoller's ego two feet under a mixture of pig slop and mud.

I slowly walked around the back of my bakkie. As I expected, he followed.  Then with one finger, not the middle one, I indicated over my lips that he should sjjjjjjjj.  I followed that gesture with two fingers pointed at his eyes. Then, again using only one finger (still not the middle one) I pointed at the 4000 V6 sign on the back of my bakkie. You see, I entered the R21 from Olifantsfontein. No way I was under Nellmapius on the day.  For very sure not in a out of tune diesel Ford!

Our hero, gasped twice, barked at his poor wife to "COME" (foreplay in his house perhaps) slammed his helmet on and off he went.   Thirty meters out he realised that his wife was a tad slow and therefore not on the bike yet.  He slammed on the brakes, almost made a stoppy and barked the come-command again.  She hopped on.

The poor wife sort of fell off as he popped a wheelie. He rammed on the brakes. She got her seating. Then promply, almost fell of the back of the bike as he disapeared into the distance, in a screaming roar, that poor Honda motor banging dents in the rev limiter. One of his gloves stayed behind. He left in too much of a hurry.

These Hard Core bikers for you ..... real scary they are