So, an hour or so after being horsewhipped (see "A new kind of trouble"), we were proceeding north from the edge of Hastings/St Leonards towards Crowhurst. It was a narrow(ish) residential road. The southbound track (heading towards us) was a stationary line of motors, getting impatient in the sun. We (a band of 8 tandems and one solo) soon spread out, as the hill did its thing. The narrowness of the road limited overtaking opportunities by the following drivers. One couldn't contain his impatience and decided that the bit of road by a pedestrian refuge was just the place, so he squeezed uncomfortably close. Mrs Hall fired the "F" gun and clouted the wing mirror, folding it against the window. He turned off.
A few minutes later a different muppet, in a Honda something, swerved in towards us as he overtook, gunning the engine.
More intemperate language from Mrs. Hall, and I decided (possibly foolishly) to give chase. A couple of hundred yards later we caught him, as he was stuck, trying to turn right. A quick assessment showed that going on his right, with the chance of either talking to him, or more likely, getting clobbered as he turned right, would be a Bad Idea, so we just cut past on the left.
Mrs. Hall got all Charlotte on his wing mirror. There was a screech of tyres and chummy came whizzing past us, slamming to a halt. He leapt out of his car, furious. He demanded Mrs. Hall's name and address. As a pick up technique it wasn't that great.
He shouted. She shouted. I told him our address several times, offering to write it down. He got back in his motor, and tried to drive off. Luckily he noticed his wife was half out of the car before he moved off.
So, lessons learnt:
It's hard to keep ones cool all the time.
Losing it like that didn't do the world of cyclists any good - he still thinks all cyclists are twats, I didn't get a chance to explain that passing that close is a seriously bad idea.
Never mind - at lunch we saw the Mad Jack Morris side, complete with Mad Jack Fuller's tomb on their badge.
