Lately it seems like I can't go for a paved road ride by myself without getting harrassed. It's either someone who's really good at buzzing (the type that can pass you 12 inches away at 60 -- friggin' scary, especially if it's a large pickup as they move more air and make more noise while doing it). Or someone doing the quiet approach, then blood curdling scream (that one was today). Or, the very occasional, object throwing.
Well, today I had the good sense to look for his plate in enough time to read it. It said:
Yea, that's right, nothing. He didn't have one. I hate people. That is all.