Don't Be a JAM

JAM - no, not the kind you spread on bread to make a PBJ nor the 70/80's punk band, "The Jam" and not the abbreviation for "just a minute" for you online chat-a-holics. If Java Application Manager entered your mind then you've found this blog in error and go back to Sun. And it's definitely not referring to GamJAMs.net from my previous post.

JAM - Jack Ass Motorist

Scenario: Thursday night AAB mountain/cross ride waiting at the light at the 7-11 on GB Blvd. A group of 12 riders on a chilly 40 degree night. We are first in line with a white Nissan Pathfinder (Florida plates) pulls up behind us. The light turns green and before we could clip in, JAM lays on the horn. After hearing that, I take my sweet time trying to clip in (and if you've read my racing posts in the past, you know I suck at clipping in anyway). JAM revs his 4-cylinder and takes the middle lane as we move to the outer lane. As he guns his 4-banger past us, he must have gotten even more P.O. because he was hit with about 1000+ lumens from everyone's helmet light as we look over to see who this JAM is. It was bright enough to see it was a white male, early 20's, Steelers jersey and was talking on the cell while sipping on a big gulp. After JAM passes us to make the next right into the Fernwood Farms neighborhood, he kind of slows down and almost stops (at a green light) waiting for us to give chase. Sorry, not tonight JAM, you're not worth it. That neighborhood isn't that big back there and don't be surprised if you find some "Share the road" stickers on that Nissan one day - you JAM.