During my first century the other day, i thought i was done for. About 30 miles in i looked up and a maroon colored dodge dakota crossed the center line and was headed straight for me. It was a 65 mph zone.

Fortunately, he corrected and got back in his lane before i became a part of his truck. I concluded that he either:

a. was trying to kill me.

b. fell asleep or something of the sort.

c. thought i was someone else and was playing the wonderful game of "chicken." (it was near a very small town)