Happy Trails To Me..

Three years ago a nasty road bike accident left a thumb-sized hole in my hamstring and made the open road a little too dangerous for solo road bike riding. Since then the bike trail has been the safest place for me to ride a mountain bike.
What I didn't anticipate was the rich, unraveling tapestry of life I would experience on the trail. Woo boy.
Last year I had a flat on the bike trail 18 miles away from home on a perfectly balmy 96° day.
I hopped off my lame hunk of steel to employ my family's favorite method of fixing mechanical objects that blends both sides of the tree.
Step One (as taught by my father): Swear and curse the object in the loudest and most creative terms you can. Make it personal, use other languages if you know them, the object has failed you.
Step Two (as taught by my mother): Shut up. Fix the thing. Go home. Chocolate.
The heat had delayed me and I was still trying to finish Step One when a fellow trail rider stopped to help me change my tire. He ended up being a french Canadian road rider who was taking an easy day off. He was polite, and to add to my humiliation, good looking.
As he changed the tire with a practiced hand he explained each step with a halting accent that would melt the mini skirt off most 20 year olds.
"What were you yelling when I rode up?' he asks.
I looked at the ruined tube in the grass with abnormal fascination.
"I think I said 'You Idiot Card-Legs, you'." 
He looked up surprised and asked, "Is that a swear?"
Changing the subject is a great tact when you have danced too close to the edge of rational behavior, and I make some small talk about the heat and humidity. He takes this opening to offer a heavily accented friendly biker banter.
"I saw you riding by earlier when I was doing intervals. You looked like, um like, umm..." 
I wait anxiously. His English seemed to fail him. I was noticed on the bike by an attractive foreign guy. My ego was inflating by the second!
"..an angry squirrel! Yes, that izz it!" he finished triumphantly.
I'm speechless for a minute as he waits for a response.
I manage to mutter, "I'm so relieved. I was going for a chipmunk but squirrel is so much better."
He animatedly finished fixing the flat as my self esteem sank. Angry squirrel.
One Year Later.....
Today as the 90's boiled the trail I wondered if I was going to get a flat or just terrorize other trail-bound cyclists like a mad rodent on the bike. I took a pit stop in the Botanic Gardens bathrooms to be rewarded with my trail nemesis, The Pissed-off Red Jersey Guy. All year I run into him at odd times on the trail and he is always determined show me how superior he is with his fancy road bike, making sure he passes me at every opportunity. I am on a mountain bike and at least 20 years older, none of which makes me back off as I take every opportunity to pass him. I can't stop myself and it only makes him even more pissed-off.
Today he has a friend with him and I actually hear him talking at the bike rack. A full year of dueling on the trail and I finally hear his voice as he chats with his friend.
"...and that lady over there is a pain. Every time I'm training I end up chasing her until my ass aches."
I smirked. 
Beware the Angry Squirrel, she will hand you an assache.