I had done nothing and didn't know him. At the yell I got out of the saddle and reflexively sprinted. I could feel the itch of the presence of his fingers reaching for my back as my classic Raleigh International and I pulled away.
He was in the envelope of trashing your average cyclist on a Schwinn Varsi-tank, (Heavy Chicago made Varsity model, the model-T of Schwinns) but not of someone in shape on a decent ride.
He trew a 'smiley' at me that whistled by my brain housing group. (Smiley - A mock wallet made up of weights used as a sap by punkers).
He was new to town, and suddenly found life in Eugene hard to deal with. When he got his rancid butt fleeing, he had police and some other formitable cyclists making life "fun" for him for his trouble.
I hadn't been the only cyclist he had used as a scapegoat for his frustrations, but I was the best one at marshalling action against him.
And I am very proud about it too.