I was on my Guzzi Centauro on a four-lane highway, and properly passed a 1975 Lincoln Continental who was running just under the speed limit in the slow lane. Before I could even get back into the lane in front of him, he punched the gas and passed me. It was a man in his 80s with his wife next him. He glared at me as he passed, his old jaw working away. Couldn't figure out his problem so I let it go, staying in the fast lane for a bit.
Then comes a traffic light. Nobody but him and me at the light, me in one lane and him in the other. He kept looking over at me with a furious look on his face. My Centauro was bright yellow but had stock mufflers and you could barely hear it, and I was in full gear, not a pickelhauben helmet or anything.
Of course, although he had a 500-cubic inch (8.2 liter) engine in the Lincoln, the thing weighed 5200 pounds, and the Centauro had 95 HP ... so when the light changed, I just took off at a reasonable pace, not winding the engine up, short-shifting up to about 70 MPH, with him well behind me.
I could hear the Lincoln coming up behind me in the other lane, absolutely wide open, and he passed me (probably still in first or second gear) running about 85.
I could HEAR the bang when he was about 50 feet ahead of me, and smoke started rolling out of the back of the car like a destroyer laying down smoke for the fleet; he'd either dropped a valve or put a rod through the case. I rolled along beside him for a bit looking at him ... he was gripping the wheel, staring straight ahead ...
... but the old woman was up in his face giving him an earful that I WISH I could have heard!
No, I didn't go back and see if he needed anything ... !