Bicycles

As the ever-waging war on our roads rolls on, your humble cycling author thought it appropriate to untangle the chain of ignorance about bikes. Before unleashing a predictable rant upon the velocipedally challenged, let me state for the record that I enjoy riding on busy footpaths, running red lights, cutting across three-lane roads and riding down stairs. That said, I do wear a helmet, equip my bike with lights and need not don a pink fluorescent vest due to the protective chip on my shoulder.

Being Australian, it is difficult to imagine a city in which walkers, riders and drivers all get along. We are a nation of people married to our cars, with long distances to travel and few public transport options to take on as a mistress. While cycling itself is an uphill battle in Sydney, bike-riders have more than topological difficulties grinding their gears. Although Sydney will never be Amsterdam, drivers would benefit from a Dutch bike education – or could at least roll a doob and calm the fuck down behind the wheel.

One can appreciate the irony that the petrol-heads of today would have been the pedal-heads of the late nineteenth century. With early models earning names like the ‘bone-shaker’ due to their iron-banded wheels and cast iron frames, cycling was an activity for blokes with a death wish*. Come the penny-farthing in the 1870s, bike-riding was hardcore. The uneven roads and great speeds resulted in most young men “taking a header” and breaking both wrists in the process.

Thanks a lot Clover Moore.

The varieties of velocipede are as varied and perplexing as the types of idiots that ride them. There is the Arts student BMX rider clinging to his skate-bowl youth while pretending he owns a legitimate mode of transport. There is the middle aged man with freshly shaven legs as repugnant as his lycra bodysuit trying to peddle his way through mid-life crisis on a brand new $12,000 racer. Then of course, you have the wannabe Parkour mountain bike riders who treat the city as their private playground, making enemies of motorists and pedestrians alike. *AHEM*

On the positive side, things are slowly improving for cyclists, much to the distaste of respected and even-handed radio hosts. If Sydney were to have extended cycleways it is doubtful they would be much better than our roads, but after riding to work over the past six months it is noticeable that cycling is growing. Apart from the sporadic Mercedes badging resulting from bike-rage and a general fear for your life during peak hour, cycling gives you a decent dose of liberty in the gridlocked city.

At the risk of alienating readers and being a target on the road, please give bikes a chance. If we take up your lane, consider if that seven seconds of your day is worth running us off the road. If we ring our bell on the footpath, it does not mean “Get out of the way!” it means “I’m a happy Dutchman that will not hit you even though you have your headphones in and have no idea about your surroundings.” Can we try to get along? Bike riders will not hurt you – they might even give you a tulip.

* Although the bicycle was also nicknamed the ‘dandy horse’ as only reckless, foppish twits could afford them.