My Sprint is legend

So, the other day I'm about half-way through a 120 mile training ride (right, what were you doing at 5:15 am) and am about to go over a bridge that passes over I5 by Fort Lewis. Here's a picture if for some reason you have never left ventured beyond the Burke Gilman trail on your bike since the training wheels might fall off:
picture here
and at the end of the bridge are around 6 people dressed in baggy, soft, dirty clothes (aka Hippies) chanting and holding some poorly constructed signs. I can't even read what their witch-like hands have scrawled on there (in blood?). They're getting nasty looks from some Ft Lewis supporters, as well they should. No far be it for me to get on my political high horse, RC says live and let live. This is loosely what The Rastafari Religion preaches and you all know my learned history with the Reggae culture. But the poorly defined calves (unshaven of course) on the women and the one pasty, TB ridden 'guy' with the scraggly Dungeons&Dragon beard just about make me want to kill someone (them). FUCK. So, what does the RC do? I casually ride by, wave to them and give the women (and I use the term women loosely) a smile. I get exactly 200m from where they are and start to wind-up my sprint. I am probably doing in excess of 54mph (my power-meter can't register the watts I am doing), and as I pass them by, old RC sticks his elbows out like a big jet-plane bombing the control tower. Yeah, did you ever Tom Cruise in Top Gun fucktard? It was like that. Anyhoo, I knocked most of them over, someone may have fallen off the bridge. Whatev.