Double irony

To Mount Faber, 41 km. I've right of way across a junction when two ironic things happen. #1: I pass a fatal accident sign. #2: a car whizzes across my path - to head into a place of worship. I want to go to heaven, but not so soon, oh demented driver. Later on, a taxi passes me, too close for comfort (pun intended). As I do my one and only lap up the hill, I wonder about tomorrow's race. I started training a month ago and it's boring. On the way home, a car toots at a cyclist, who raises his finger. One finger is more aerodynamic than raising a fist, I guess.