He immediately started honking and swerving back and forth, like a snorting, enraged bull looking for the opportunity to charge. The lanes were narrow and the road was winding with poor visibility, so he couldn’t pass.

Naturally he was tailgating about two feet behind my car, and I could see the veins popping in his temples. He started pointing and throwing his hands around inside the car while he mouthed imprecations at me. Then his fist came out the driver’s side window and started shaking at me. I swear I’m not making this up.

I tapped my brake a few times to let him know I didn’t appreciate this involuntary automotive colonoscopy, and his driving actually grew more frantic and erratic as he rose into an apoplectic fury, alternately leaning hard on his horn and pounding his dashboard.

I had enough, and simply took my foot off the gas. My car slowed to 80 km/h, then 70, then 60. At 50 km/h he finally lost his mind and swung into the oncoming lane to pass. – even though the road was just bending left around a blind curve. He crossed the double yellow lines, screamed past me and bolted up the street.

I went into a slow burn then, thinking the typical, frustrated thought of all drivers who experience a grade AAA asshole up close: *Where’s a cop when you need one?*

A few more minutes up the road, I came around another bend – and lo and behold, Mr Angry was stopped on the gravel shoulder in front of a police cruiser.

I slowed right down while passing, honked once to get Mr Angry’s attention, and smiled and waved at him. The cop looked at me quizzically, but I accelerated back to the speed limit and carried on.

The warm glow I felt at that moment lasted the rest of the day.