My fingers are still tingling as I type . . . it happened. The moment for which I've been waiting, longing, training for months. An encounter with . . . The Scofflaw. Oh, there have been mini-scofflaws over the past few months. Freds without regard for law. Scurrilous. Blowing through EVERY SINGLE STOP SIGN. Without a hesitation in pedal stroke. Without a glance left or right. Giving all us law-abiding cyclists a bad name. But none of them compares with The Scofflaw. That green gym short-wearing, orange-safety jacket, white Bell helmet, rearview mirror, 6-speed Schwinn riding . . . and fit as HELL cyclist that not only blows through every stop sign, but also weaves across four lanes of busy traffic, rides against red stop LIGHTS. He has no regard for the law. He is a law unto himself. Worst of all. He is faster than me. And has beat me to work every single time. Our paths cross once in a blue moon . . . when I least expect it. Like a thief in the night . . . like . . . this morning.

I was on "the hill", the long three mile stretch of 5% grade busy residential street in the middle of my 8 mile commute with . . . count them . . . one, two, three, four, five stop signs. Bus stops. Catholic school with crossing guards. Hospital. I stop at the first sign. Shoulder check. Clear. Since my encounters with mini-scofflaws on this hill, I've developed the habit of shoulder checking to prepare myself for them. I cruise along to stop sign number two. Stop. Cruising up the steepest section of the climb. Shoulder check. And . . . there he is! "The Scofflaw". Right on my wheel. How did I miss him? He came out of no where. A bolt of adrenaline shot through my body. Without hesitation, I clicked it up a gear and let the adrenaline move my pedals. He was NOT going to pass me on this hill. 20 meters pass. "OK, play it cool, don't freak out here". I shoulder check and I have gapped him significantly. (Note to reader: I've lost 25 lbs in the past two months since my last encounter and been training on hill repeats in preparation for cx season so I am about 80% race ready).

I must be early this morning because the school crossing guards are still out. There is a confusing mix of traffic and school kids up ahead. I slow and stop. I feel The Scofflaw close behind me. I accelerate through the mix to Stop sign #4. Stop. Take turns with the cars and proceed. The Scofflaw is close behind me. Straights. Stop sign #5. I stick out my left arm and let my hand drop in the traditional Stop Signal. Take THAT, Scofflaw. POW! Left jab to the jaw. There is a straight long block and I sense The Scofflaw about to make a move. But I've got the technology. I click it up to my 48 ring on the front and put it in cruise mode. I've got a big gap on him coming up to the stop light by the hospital. It is red. I stop and make a right on red. Glance to my right and I have a 20 meter gap on him. OK. A long one mile stretch to the long double green arrow into the park. I know how he takes this turn so I put it in the 48x12 and cruise like a bat out of hell. And pray for a green. Oh, the cross traffic is turning so it looks like I will get the green. Glance back. Yep The Scofflaw is doing his trademark "cross four lanes of busy traffic to the sidewalk" move. Idiot. The light turns double green into the park. I don't miss a pedal stroke. God is smiling on me today! I bolt through the bike path, over the grass, down the curb onto the street. I ease on the pedals and my legs start to shake as if halfway through a race. I'm not used to this exersion. No sign of the Scofflaw. He must be stuck back at the light . . . on the sidwalk! Jerk. Your trick back-fired, didn't it?

I rest up through the park, shoulder-checking every two seconds. Where is he? Now, I formulate my strategy for the rest of the park. I'm resting. It would be the icing on the cake if he caught me again, and then I dusted him on the final short steep hill, where he scurrilously passed me in our last encounter. Yes, that's the plan. I look to the right where the bike path meanders. There he is! He is flying like a maniac. White hair in the wind. He is coasting, Schwinn out of gears. He must be trying to catch me. I get a second shot of adrenaline. I'm off. Over the speed bumps at the zoo. No peds, phew. Now I lose sight of the path above. I have to climb a steep section while the path goes straight. My God, what if he is gaining on me here? I huff up the hill and look back. No sign of him. The ped xing up ahead is blinking red, stale green. OK, fine if I stop. He will catch me. I slow. Yellow. I'm through. No sign of him. I soft pedal through the next section, looking back. Still no sign. Where ARE you Scofflaw? C'mon! I shoulder check. There is a car . . . then partly hidden, the unmistakable outline of . . . The Scofflaw! Yes, the race is on again. There is one more downhill with a stop sign at the bottom. A straight. One more stop sign. Then the final uphill. I know how to play it. I will stop at every sign. He will blow by me, then I will catch him on the final climb. That's it! Phill Liggett is already calling my victory sprint!

Down the hill. I stop. Left arm out, hand down. BLAMMO! Right jab to the jaw. Take THAT, Scofflaw. I glance under my arm. He's on my wheel. I soft pedal the straight. Pass me. Pass me NOW. I stop at the final sign before the hill. I let my left arm extend slowly, then . . . SPROING! . . . my hand mechanically snaps into place like a snappy upsidedown military salute. Take THAT, left roundhouse to the ribs . . . POW!!! Oh, I was enjoying this. I check. He is on my wheel. Right where I want him. Final hill. This is IT!!! The adrenaline is SURGING through my veins. I'm struggling to keep it in check. Click. One gear. Glance. He is moving to pass. Click. I keep pace. Pass me. Pass me NOW! Check. He is way back down the hill and I am almost at the sign. But he is moving to the center. Ah hah! I know your tricks, you Scofflaw. I move to the center to block his stop sign blowing pass in front of traffic. Not this time. I stop, blocking his illegal move. SPROING! The mechanical salute. LEFT JAB, RIGHT CROSS, LEFT UPPER CUT, RIGHT HOOK. ONE, TWO THREE. He is DOWN for the count and not getting up. I feel like punching the air like Lance on Mount Ventoux! YES, YES, YES!!!

Scofflaw, your days of law-breaking are over . . . as long as I'm around. You are completely and UTTERLY . . . DOMINATED!!!