I now respect cops, flagmen, and race volunteers

Ok, it's time to get this one out.

I tried to forgive & forget, but can't do it.

The guy with the licence plate "Channel" is a complete douchebag. I told you this was coming.

Team Angry tried to help as volunteers for the half triathlon at Timberman this year. OMFG, it was probably the hardest job I have ever had.

We were at an intersection/turn, in the middle of nowhere, in Gilford. It was the slowest traffic street on the entire course. Team Angry, and one of Gilford's finest, Doug, had the duty.

Before the race started, the only traffic was literally little old ladies going off to church, and one young lady taking the drive of shame out of the trailer park. The local health club was closed that morning, specifically due to the thousands of bikes scheduled to go past that day. The one house within walking distance had the lawn chairs out, awaiting the excitement.

K, T, the cop and myself determined our jobs, and fooled around with our sweet orange flags for about 2 hours, waiting for it all to begin. We set up cones, got our coffees, and talked cop talk with our new cop friend. We were at a T intersection, with the bikes going to the left by us.

At 8:45, the first bikes started coming by. It was easy. "LEFT TURN AHEAD, GO LEFT OF THE CONES!" Keith then followed up with with some good cheering, and that was the last we saw of them.

I can handle this. A minute later, another bike, another yell, another cheer. Hey, this is fun.

It went on that way for about 5 minutes, until a car came from the cop's end. Straight into the bikes that are coming more frequently. Which I then had to stop, because they wanted to drive in the bike lane. With bikes coming.

I'll leave this part as I did it; badly.

Some of the drivers were pissed off that they had to wait. Because they apparently ignored the twelve foot, lighted signs, advising an alternate route, that had been out for two frigging weeks. As if a Sunday morning is so important at 9:30 fucking AM that they can't wait 4 minutes. Hey dick - God sees you, and it's more important to show signs of Buddha-like patience for strangers than it is to be there for the first two bars of Amazing Grace.

Actually, most people were very understanding. Almost all of them were, actually. A minivan full of New Jersyites seemed annoyed.

The locals were all pretty cool, because without Timberman, Gunstock, and a Walmart TV commercial featuring a driver from here in 2002, it wouldn't even be on the map. Gotta love and support the tourist dollars.

It was going pretty well, until the true thundering herd started coming by. After 10:15, it was almost non stop, with very short breaks in the bike crowd. We would then yell "GOGOGO!!!" to the drivers, who would peel out faster than the pit stop at Loudon.

Until this one complete asshole decided to leave the trailer park. Now, I don't know what he was doing there; if he lives there or wanders the park in a short skirt, if he wears dresses or leather pants, rides a Siobhan or not, is paid in dollars, crack, or Ramen chicken noodle soup. I refuse to speculate.

I will say his license plate say "Channel" I won't say what state. figure it out.

He sat in the driveway, and wanted to pull into the oncoming bikes, into their flow. It would have been much, much easier to take a right turn. Sure, it would have added a couple miles for the detour, but he was going to run into 2 more roadblocks either way he went. And with that license plate, I knew he was a local.

So, after about two minutes, he decides to ignore both me, and T, telling him to wait. He pulls straight across the road, and blocks the bikes. He created a funnel for one of the bikers, who had to slam on his breaks, and still caused the biker to hit him, and another car. Luckily, the biker wasn't hurt. Pissed, absolutely. At me, probably. It was my job to prevent that. I don't blame him.

Doug was too far away to do anything. We yelled at him to get out of the way. He decided that using the F-bomb was the right thing to do instead. He then started to open his door, but T ran over, and the coward slammed his door and put it into gear. He probably didn't want us to see his tutu.

Then he pulled onto the lawn, drove through two front lawns and took off.

I know one Marina that I will never get gas in at Lake Winnepesaukee. That's just a guess.

Then, K was waving at a Q-tip to stop, and she hit his arm and flag, and drove right past him, Doug, the cones, and followed Mr. D-bag Channel up the road.

I can see how she woould hit him, it's not like blaze orange two hundred sixty five pound Clydesdale is noticable on a sunny day.

Next year, if they let us, I hope to do something easier. Like quantum mechanics.