Most of the verbiage hurled my way when I’m on my bike is mean-spirited, vitriolic or just downright profane.

Big deal.

I don’t particularly care what the haters have to say, and I rather like a good creative curse. Usually, I have no trouble tuning out the run-of-the-mill ramblings and actually get a chuckle out of the most original rants.

Every now and again, though, a passer- or driver-by says something that’s so bizarre, I just scratch my helmeted head and ride away … with a wary glance to make sure the loon in question isn’t in hot pursuit.

Just a couple of nights ago, I was riding to work when I encountered two people walking down the middle of the street. They were, literally, in the middle of the street. In front was a man; about 10 feet behind was a woman.

I guessed they were a couple who had been spatting, and the man just couldn’t stand to walk with the woman, who was puppy-dogging behind.

I gave both a wide berth.

As I passed the woman, she let out a quiet wail, as if the combination of her mate’s cold shoulder and the ignominy of being passed by an old guy on a bike was just too much.

Then, as I began to pass the man, he turned his head, took one look at me and let out a bellow that sounded like Chewbacca in heat.

Weird.

Later that night, I came upon a car stopped in the road. A woman hopped out of the passenger side, walked around the front and starting digging keys out of her purse as she yapped on a cell phone.

Oblivious to her surroundings, she veered/lurched right in my path.

Fortunately (for her), I saw the stagger coming and had no trouble steering around her, but not before she saw me coming, lurched back toward her ride and let out an eerie “EEEEEERRRRRRRPPPPPPP” that sounded like half cry of terror and half belch. I’m certain the person on the other end of the cell-phone call really appreciated it.

Finally, just two days later, I was heading home for dinner when I noticed a man on a bike riding toward me on the sidewalk.

As he approached, he fixed me with an unwavering stare and screamed, “PO-lice, PO-lice, PO-LICE!”

At first, I assumed he figured me for an undercover cop and was just alerting the neighborhood to the presence of The Man. Then I took a glance at myself in my geeky bike gear and decided there’s no way I’d be mistaken for the Po-Po. One of those missionary-on-bike types, maybe, but not Five-O.

Slowly it dawned on me that after all these years and all those miles, I finally had experienced the on-bike equivalent of the surreptitious flashing of the headlights some drivers use to alert others to the presence of a speed trap ahead.

Funny, but I don’t think I was speeding at the time. I must have looked like I was going faster than I really was.