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To The Guy Who Thought It Was Funny to Shoot Me With a Paintball Gun on the Santa Fe Trail: You're a Dick

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Just after 8 o'clock this morning, I was riding to work, as I always do, along the Sante Fe Trail. I'd just passed Woodrow and was riding along the fields at Randall Park when I heard pop, pop on my left. It sounded like when a squirrel drops a half-eaten pecan to the ground, but it obviously wasn't since that particular stretch is treeless. What it was, I learned when I felt the bee sting on my arm and glanced at the black Cadillac El Dorado (or maybe Seville) matching my pace along Santa Fe Ave, a kid, maybe 18, tracking me with a paintball gun through the open passenger window.

I casually gave him the finger as I rode then, after he shot me twice more, I glared hard at him gave him the finger, much more emphatically this time. This was satisfying, I guess, but not very smart since it meant that I didn't see the yellow metal pylon straight ahead of me. I crashed into the pylon, was thrown from the bike, and landed on the pavement. I started to stand to catch the license plate, but my left leg hurt like hell and I just sat in the grass.

An older guy across the street, who must have seen the crash, moseyed over to see if I was OK. "Just sit there for a while," he told me, examining the pylon. He tried to shake the think in its mooring, and a bit of water trickled out.

"Some assholes drove by and shot me with paintballs," I said, meaning Seriously, I don't just run into inanimate object, you know. He nodded and stood there until I got up and took a few ginger steps on my leg. It was fine, save for a sore ankle, and so was my bike. I hopped back on and headed back and take a shower.

Along the way, I ran into two bike cops where the trail cuts by Lakewood Country Club. I told them what had happened, then rode back with them to where I'd wiped out. They talked with the pylon guy, who hadn't seen much, and told me they had three squad cars patrolling the neighborhood. I'm sure DPD will pull out all the stops to catch a couple of dickhead kids who think shooting bicyclists with paintball guns is funny. Certainly they don't have anything more important on their plates.

Update at 11:06 p.m.: The peanut butter sandwich that I'd packed for lunch this morning is missing, having apparently fallen out when I wrecked. Now I'm pissed.

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