Two Legs Good, Two Wheels Bad

I don't like bikes. I am also rapidly going off people who ride them. There are a number of reasons for this, which I fully intend to bore you with over the following paragraphs. As such, I would like to open this post with an amusing anecdote about my 2010 near-death cycling experience.

Picture the scene: It's my birthday, and Chris and I have just arrived at our idyllic New Forest retreat for the weekend. I am about to get stuck into what I anticipate to be the first of many, many cupcakes when there is a knock at the door. It's the owner, bearing the terrible news that he has two bicycles we are welcome to use free of charge. Chris's face lights up whilst I recoil in horror at the very mention of the word and the notion of exercise it implies.

I hadn't even been near a bike since my previous near-death experience aged 14, where there was an incident involving me, Molly, one bike and a kerb, which saw Molly walk away unscathed and me confined to the house for an entire week whilst my nose reconstructed itself. And now I was once again expected to saddle up? It wasn't until I came to terms with the inevitable, i.e. Chris getting his own way, that I realised a bit of saddle sore would be the least of my worries. The conversation shortly before setting off on our intrepid adventure went something like this:

Me: Er, what do you think you're doing?
Chris: Putting your helmet on
Me: I am not wearing a helmet
Chris: You are wearing a helmet
Me: I am not wearing a helmet
Chris: You are wearing the helmet

I wore the helmet. Probably a good job really, as I'm quite sure riding out in front of that car would've been a lot scarier without one. Although at least I'd have been road kill with good hair. What was a car doing on a cycle path anyway, I hear you ask? Well, over the years Chris has realised that in order to make me do something I don't want to do, he must continue to lie until he's sure there's no possible way I could back out. Bearing this in mind, he informs me as we approach the T junction that I will have to endure a mile on a 60mph road to reach the cycle path. Which for most people would obviously not be a big deal. I am not most people.

Upon hearing the instruction to turn right, I immediately veered into the path of oncoming traffic, skidding down a country lane before eventually coming to a halt outside a pub (convenient), leaving Chris apologising profusely to a collection of motorists for my mental inadequacy. I then proceeded to wobble a further 100 yards down the lane before falling off due to sheer terror at the sight of a car approaching. No really, I am this cool. Suffice to say, I have not endangered my life or the sanity of others since.

Other people and their bikes, however, are not so easily avoided. When I'm in the car and I see a cyclist wobbling along up ahead it is quite frankly one of my worst driving-related nightmares (second only to negotiating Hemel's magic roundabout). 'Can I get past them, give them a wide enough berth and still make it back on to my side of the road before smashing into that oncoming bus?' etc. By which time, my dithering and deliberating has left me only two less than desirable options: speed past erratically, or crawl along on their tail in a fashion which is sure to be both threatening to the cyclist and utterly infuriating to any motorist caught in my wake.

Saying that, there are some cyclists I would happily mow down: for example, the gentleman who brandished me a 'fucking fucker' after trying and failing to cut me up on a dual carriageway, or the herd of cyclists who rampaged past my aunt, bellowing 'Get out the way', almost sending her plunging into the canal as she walked along the tow path to work.

As a pedestrian working in London, I also frequently find myself on the receiving end of cyclists' misplaced sense of importance. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that it's the law to stop at a zebra crossing if a pedestrian has already stepped out. But there must be some new piece of legislation I've missed which states cyclists, white van drivers and people who just don't really feel like stopping are exempt, which would explain my daily brushes with toelessness.

Oh, and fyi, this imaginary piece of legislation that all cyclists now adhere to also means they can ignore red traffic lights, thump and kick the sides of cars that get in their way, make obscene, angry gestures at pedestrians for no apparent reason and veer up on to the pavement whenever they fancy. The other day I actually found myself apologising and hopping out of the way of a Royal Mail man who came speeding along the path towards me. Instead of saying 'No, I'M sorry for riding illegally on the pavement, whilst you, a pedestrian, are perfectly entitled to be here', he merely glared and swerved around me.

So here's a little message for our puffed-up, two-wheeled friends. Cyclists: pipe down. You are nothing special. You are merely slightly speedier pedestrians who have lost the privilege to use the pavement and gained a wardrobe full of unflattering fluorescent clothing. If you smack the side of my car in a temper, I will open the door as you ride past. If you swear at me whilst I'm using a pedestrian crossing, I will stick my foot out in front of you. In either scenario, I can't see me coming off worse. So behave, or on yer bike! (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)