I remember my first year here. I was leaving pickle ball at Eisenhower, heading toward Buena Vista. There was no traffic either ahead of me or behind. I had intended to take a left turn onto the multi-modal path to head North. A bicyclist blew through their stop sign and I had to slam on brakes to keep from hitting him. Then the guy had the nerve to cuss me out. To this day, I still wish he had thrown a punch at me.
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