These Are Your Wildest Road Rage Stories
I’ve got a good one where I was both the instigator and 100% at fault. Let me explain…
For starters, I was 16 and had been driving for less than a year. I was a real shitass kid. Not only was I one of those little fucks that think they’re the paragon of wisdom and righteousness at 16, but I was also someone who thought I could outsmart the rules and do whatever I wanted. The inherent contradiction there is not lost on me.
So I’m driving my girlfriend to work in my mom’s Honda Odyssey. It’s a quick drive… just out of the neighborhood and two miles down the highway to one of those “just off the exit” fast food joints. We hit the highway and traffic immediately slams to a complete stop. We’re stuck in this for ten minutes and we’re barely halfway to our exit. My girlfriend calls her boss about being late. I’m in a shit mood- I should be home playing Call of Duty. I’m in the right lane and poke the car onto the shoulder enough so that my girlfriend can look ahead and see if she sees anything. Nothing.
We’re back in the slog for a few minutes when I notice a whole squad of Harley riders (jackets, patches, and everything) flying up the shoulder. Main traffic is going from fully stopped to a walking crawl, these guys are doing 40+ past everyone on the shoulder. I decide that’s pretty reckless and stupid of them and, as the aforementioned paragon of righteousness, figure I’ll teach them a lesson by drifting out into the shoulder again, as if we’re looking ahead for the issue. There’s a decent amount of tire squeal and drama from the pack of riders, and they come to a stop only about a car length behind me. From here, I had two options- I could give a little fake-apology wave and get out of their way, and I might get some middle fingers and a broken mirror… OR, I could flip them off and make it extremely obvious that what I just did was intentional.
The aforementioned paragon of wisdom decided to flip them off… So they regain themselves, rev on up, and completely surround me. Two bikes in front, one to my left, one behind, and the rest of the gang watching from the shoulder. I am being rapidly acquainted with the consequences of my actions and can do nothing but panic-lock all the doors, grip the steering wheel, and stare straight ahead, 100% deflated of all righteous bluster.
Traffic has started to move around us. The lead guy- 40’s or 50’s, exactly what you’d expect -comes up to the window and starts screaming at me to roll it down. I’m too scared to look at him, he’s too angry to back down. He escalates to pounding on the window hard enough to shake the car. He’s yanking on the door handles and screaming at me to “get out of the fucking car.”
My deer-in-the-headlights gaze into the distance is interrupted by an old panel van pulling into the open space now vacated by moving traffic just ahead of me and the bikers. This van is beautifully airbrushed with a Grateful Dead livery. As a little 16 year old Eminem Aficionado, I don’t know anything about Deadheads or their culture- all I’ve got is what’s written on the tin, so I’m now certain that someone even meaner is here, ready to take the side of the bikers; perhaps be a friendly witness to them in the ensuing assault. I watch this guy get out of the van- still 40’s but younger than the riders. Salt and pepper goatee. Runs his fingers through silver hair before donning a small black leather hat. Walks calm-as-can-be through the line of bikers and up to the lead guy pounding on my window. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder and says “he’s just a kid, let me talk to him.” As if exercised by a Cleric’s touch, this biker goes from rip-roaring mad to completely sedate- he looks at this complete stranger and immediately backs down. Such was the energy of this guy.
Uncle Deadhead takes up the spot at the window and asks me quietly and calmly if I’d roll the window down a little bit to chat. I comply, transfixed.
He says, basically, “Hey bud… I saw what you did and I saw what they were doing. They are gonna get hurt riding like that, and I’ll talk to ‘em, but it’s not your job to teach ‘em a lesson, alright? You’re in an armored box, they’re exposed… it’s an easy choice for you to frighten them because you’re not in any danger… but their lives are on the line. It’s not up to you to decide what’s right or wrong out here. Now, do you understand what you did wrong?”
And for the first time in my life, I looked at an adult and said “Yes sir”
“Are you ever gonna do it again?” – “No sir.”
“Good, I’ll tell ‘em you’re sorry and get them out of your way. Drive safe.”
And sure enough, the guy exchanged some words with the lead who did a little “round up lets go” motion, and they rode off.
I dropped off my girlfriend, who was not speaking to me, and when I hit the overpass on my way home, I saw the Grateful Dead van and a circle of bikes pow-wowed in the parking lot of the truck stop across the road. I’m feeling genuinely remorseful on a level I very much was not used to at this stage in my life, and decided- stupidly -to go and apologize in person. They clock me pulling up from all the way across the parking lot. Their conversation has ground to a halt. I park a safe but VERY awkward distance away and walk slowly over, trying very hard to make eye contact with anyone in the group, failing miserably. When I get to them, they’re silent. I swallow my pride and the knot in my throat and make the most difficult eye contact of my life with the lead guy. “I saw you all here, I wanted to stop and give you a proper apology. What I did was really stupid and I’m glad no one got hurt. I’m sorry.” The lead biker offers me a handshake and basically says “no one got hurt, so you got lucky”, Uncle Deadhead gives me a big smile, and I walk the painfully awkward distance back to my mom’s Odyssey and drive 10 minutes home in complete silence.
So anyways, the moral of the story is to educate your kids on the social contract of the road, how it’s never their job to enforce the rules of the road, and to always watch for bikers, especially where you don’t expect them.
