The Standoff

Yesterday I had a moment that was out of an old western movie. I was riding my bike down the damp sidewalk rather casually. I wasn't in a hurry; I had to get to the library to print off a paper. The bell tower tolled 2pm, and I looked up the sidewalk to see an old woman in walker moving her way down the sidewalk. This woman was the epitome of cute old grandma. Snow-white hair with a sweater the same color, large coke-bottle glasses with a golden chain attached to the ends that sagged over her hunched back. She even had the sliced tennis balls capping the ends of the walker for ease of movement. Then I looked into her face. I saw not sweetness, but determination. The bell had just tolled, and it suddenly dawned on me: "This old lady is going to try and race me!" You see, we were both approaching a turn in the sidewalk, and I was making a wide approach to make the turn. It must have been obvious to the old lady that my intention was to get to the turn before her, and I shit you not this woman sped up. Not casually or sweetly either, she hit the NoS and was off. I was surprised by this old woman's acceleration, which set me back a few tenths of a second that could have made me lose the standoff. Then I remembered that I was on a bike. What I had constructed in my head as an even match of wits was actually as unbalanced as a midget fighting a lawnmower. I just pumped the pedals a few times and easily beat grandma Hortense to the turn, and in the process I sprayed her nice white sweater with a nice brown stream of street water.