Back before we had a car, my wife and I used bicycles to get around everywhere. On my days off, I'd ride my bike up to Sabs' work to keep her company on the ~2mi trip home. Well, one sunny Sacramento day that little exercise took a turn for the worse.
I'm a very cautious and courteous cyclist. I'll use the sidewalk, but I understand that pedestrians have the right of way there, and that it's me who must move for them, not the other way around. So because of a lady walking along the side walk, I popped down into the gutter (I'm led to believe it was a bike lane, but on Folsom Blvd I didn't really feel safe riding in it for too long) to pass her, and I was feeling lazy so I didn't hop back up on the sidewalk after I passed her.
It was around this time that a convertible full of idiotic teenage girls passed by me going quite slow. Suddenly out of nowhere, the passenger grabbed my arm, while the driver floored the gas pedal. I like to consider myself a competent cyclist, completely in control of my 20" BMX, despite the fact we were rapidly approaching 40mph or so. After a few seconds or so the passenger let go of my arm, the driver changed lanes while I wound down my speed.
At this point in time, I thought I'd caught a break - they were stopped by the red light at the next intersection. I decided to haul ass to catch them, and give them a piece of my mind... well that didn't entirely work out. They were in the turn lane, and before I got even close enough to weave through the traffic and confront them, they got the green arrow to turn.
I then noticed that they turned into a Wendy's parking lot and stopped. They all piled out and filed into the restaurant, leaving Mommy and Daddy's Mustang Convertible unguarded in the parking lot. I normally don't take out my frustrations with the driver on a helpless automobile, but I was so overcome by rage by the time I reached said parking lot that it was either that, or I go to jail for assault and battery for beating the hell out of two little white suburbanite girls in a fast food restaurant.
Having crash landed many attempted tail-whips in my dirt jumping BMX days, I knew exactly the movement to perform. As I reached the car, rage boiling in my blood, I popped my front wheel off the ground. My feet left the pedals, the frame swung around at quite a vertical angle, using all my upper body strength to feed the bike every out of centripetal motion I could muster. The back peg of my bike came down on this skank's windshield, driving an inch and a half hole straight through it, the rest of the weight of my bike creating a huge spiderweb of cracks as the windshield shattered into a million tiny pieces, held together only by the laminate inside it.
So I pulled my bike from what's left of this bitch's windshield, and my peg started to pull the folded mess out a little bit. I pushed the windshield off my peg, retrieved my bike, and went on my way. Vengeance was mine that day.