That was a close call

I was motoring down to Teviotdale this morning for a breakfast appointment with my old pal Kipling. I'd been behind a white VW Atlas for at least twenty kilometers. He'd felt the need to overtake me on the passing lane just south of Durham. Then he got stuck behind a pickup moseying along at 85 or so, and he stayed there... and stayed, and stayed. Thanks to my years of experience driving a first gen VW diesel, I plan my passes carefully. After noticing nimrod hadn't passed that pickup in half a dozen road-wide-open opportunities, I made my move. Into the oncoming lane, signal light on, gaining fast, the dolt must have had a good ten seconds to see me coming. Just as I'm drawing alongside, the oblivious imbecile pulls out to pass! Wellington County Road 6 doesn't have much of a shoulder, and then drops off steeply. I've got two wheels on the shoulder and two in the ditch, there's a hydro-pole coming at me fast, I feel the car going over, cut to the left of the pole and regain the roadway in a giant dust-cloud. Nimrod was long gone, but the pickup driver was so impressed with my masterful wheelsmanship he gave me a big thumbs-up. Wheelsmanship my ass; it was sheer dumb luck I didn't barrel-roll through that pole and cut my Toyota in half. My immediate impulse was to catch up to Atlas boy and share my thoughts while the adrenalin was still pumping, but on second thought, the irony of having a heart-attack while beating the crap out of the guy who just ran me off the road would have been too rich. Ten minutes later I slide into my booth at the truck stop, only to learn my breakfast appointment was the second Monday of the month, not the first.