I was sitting in the left-turn lane of Orchard Ridge Way the other day, at the Great Seneca intersection by MedImmune in Gaithersburg. A silver BMW with NCC plates pulled up next to me. I thought I'd wave but I'm always driving the Lexus when I see other club members.

Anyway, this person pulled all the way up to the edge of the intersection and completely blocked the crosswalk. Always bugs me when people do this. There is a stop bar on the pavement in front the crosswalk lines and cars are supposed to hold behind that line. But this is Maryland and most people drive like shit and I was tired so I didn't think much of it. (No offense to the driver - maybe you were tired too.)

It's a long red. A old man on a 3-speed touring bicycle approaches from the right, coming down the sidewalk and into the crosswalk. He was quite a sight. The bike was an old Schwinn or a Raleigh -- one like my English mom used to ride to the grocery store. Wire baskets hung on either side of the rear wheel. He wore oversized khaki shorts that came up to his nipples and suspenders over a thin, tight T-shirt. An old white cycling helmet sat on his bespectacled, stubble-faced head.

This old cat comes riding slowly up to the fender of that Bimmer and started ringing the thumb bell on the handle bar. Ring-ring. Ring-ring. You could tell immediately that he wasn't going to give an inch. The lane was his. Luckily, no one had pulled up behind the car. The driver immediately conceded the space and backed up, letting the man continue to the other side of the street.

A lazy smile crossed my face that soon grew into a healthy chuckle. I watched that old boy ride on his way and said, "You tell 'em, Pops."