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Cyclists Dismount
From BoF Issue 3
I arrive home feeling like I’ve just had a
Turkish bath. Whilst my clothes are damp from the moisture hanging in the cool
October air, my day-glow waterproof seals in a level of perspiration usually
associated with racehorses.
“Hello darling. Had a good day?” asks my wife
as I park the bicycle in the garage
“Just a moment” I say, pushing past her “I’ve
had a fly in my eye for the past 3 miles”. I disappear up to the bathroom to
utilise a Johnson’s baby bud in a way that would give my optician nightmares.
Welcome to the world of the cyclist
Cycling is a lot like communism: theoretically
it should work, but it just doesn’t. Taking the healthy, efficient and
environmentally friendly option that is the bicycle does not ensure you a long
life and peer kudos. In fact, it’s more likely to get you a couple of broken
legs and a cauldron full of scorn from the passing motorists. This is because in
the great order of all things vehicular cycles and their owners rank right at
the bottom, alongside the occasional crazy OAP who takes their mobility scooter
down the A1. Why? Because they’re:
1. Slow. In this day and age, everyone needs
to get everywhere immediately. We want loans over the telephone; we want to
drive away that new car the same day; we don’t want some slow-assed cyclist
shaving vital seconds off my ‘trip to the Co-op and back for a can of Whiskas
and some Bonjella’ record attempt.
2. Vulnerable. For Christ’s sakes, we haven’t
got time to be considering the wellbeing of others! At least other motorists
are in big metal boxes that will offer some protection if I smash into them
whilst attempting to retune Galaxy FM. If I encounter a cyclist I have to pay
attention for the full 5 or 6 seconds it takes to pass them.
3.
Reflecting my laziness. What? You mean you cycle home 5 miles each day? Well I
couldn’t possibly. I’d miss the end of Neighbours. You bastard.
I think that most of the contempt that drivers
have for cyclists can be subconsciously attributed to number 3. Although new to
the cycling world, I have encountered already a number of totally flabbergasted
individuals. ‘What?! You cycle home?’ They say, in a tone I imagine is
reminiscent of the disbelief experienced by small children when they heard that
man had in fact reached the moon. ‘Yes, as it takes about the same time as the
bus and means that I don’t have to pay to sit in a moving room full of dross’ I
reply. Whilst seeing the logic behind this explanation, the seemingly
involuntary tutting and headshaking offers a window into the soul of the
non-cyclist. Clearly, they think I’m insane. I however would apply the same
logic to someone who could avoid bus travel, but chooses not to.
And therein lays the reasoning behind the
cycling commute. When its bike versus bus, there really is no contest: as there
is no worse mode of transport than the bus. Behold a small selection of the
many reasons why bus travel is shite:
1. The smell. No further explanation required.
2. The surly twat that takes the money and
‘drives’ the bus. Low on brain cells, high on ill-informed opinion the bus
driver is a law unto himself. Plus this is his domain, and should he wish to
operate like a blue-collar Nazi, he will.
3. The general public. Or to be more precise,
the dregs of society. Be it the chavs in their ‘street fashion’ blaring out
tinny shite on a stolen mobile phone, the women with 8 scabby kids each or the
old fecker who seems to know everyone – every trip is like being in some sort
of disaster movie where the disaster does not occur in one sudden extra-killing
explosion, but is dragged out for the duration of a 20 minute journey via
numerous council estates.
4. The cost. If I die and got to hell, bus
travel has led me to believe that Satan will have some ‘transport’ company
charging me £2.60 for the pleasure.
5. The don’ts. Don’t distract the driver,
don’t get up till the vehicle has come to a complete stop, don’t eat, don’t
drink, and don’t sit here because an old fart might want to…
6. No seats? You’ll have to stand. And hold
that bit of rope. Rope that moves as the bus moves, offering no support
whatsoever and making you look like you an elastic man with involuntary
movement problems.
So, as I may have alluded to above, the bus is
a no-no. So what other options are available should I decide to dispense with
the bike? Driving is not an option as the one car in our household is being
utilised at that time by the wife and kids. Buying another car would of course
push me into the stratosphere of the moronically ignorant:
“Climate
change and oil consumption are all well and good, but are nothing compared to
the inconvenience faced by a man without a car who has to travel 5 miles in a
civilised society” - Ghandi[1]
Plus the fact that it’s bloody expensive to be
so lazy. An extra helping of petrol, servicing and MOT on the family budget on
top of the initial costs of buying the machine itself. So, citing moral and
economical reasoning (and feeling pretty damn fine about myself) we can rule
the second car option out. That leaves only a paltry collection of remaining
options. Namely: walking, car sharing and taxi travel - each of which is not
without its shortcomings.
1. Walk. Just because I cycle doesn’t mean I’m
totally stupid.
2. Car share. Or ‘lets force myself on an
unwilling colleague who’s only common interest with myself is a geographically
compatible journey home’ as it’s less commonly (but more truthfully) known. You’re
on dodgy ground from the off with this one. Firstly, you’re putting someone in
a difficult position with your pathetic begging - ‘please can I have a lift
home because I’m frightened of buses’. It’s almost guaranteed to shame the
driver into saying yes. Then once you’ve bagged your lift the continuous
shaming begins: the driver can’t leave early/have a day off/go home a different
way because it buggers up your lift home and they know it. When you’re in the
car neither you nor they can fart, belch, pick your nose, play right wing
sea-shanties on the stereo for fear of suffering social death. Then there’s the
cost. Whilst the driver technically incurs no real extra cost by dropping you
off you are still indebted to them and hence feel you owe them something.
Having already paid for the journey with your pride, all but the tightest of
tight will feel the need to reimburse the driver with a gift at some welcome
opportunity. But what is the etiquette for such an event? Wine at Christmas?
Flowers on their birthday? Cheese for Halloween? It’s a minefield.
3. Taxi. Yeah, right. I’m going to pay 5 times
the cost of the equivalent bus fare to, let’s face it, a man who would be a bus
driver only he couldn’t manage to pass the test. Plus you’re a captive audience
for the attention starved cabby and his ill-informed views on everything.
So, having comprehensively ruled out all of
the other ways of getting home in a little over 1,000 words, the bike becomes
the only option. As I’ve alluded to earlier, from the outset you begin to feel
self-righteous. Not only are you saving money and the environment, but you’re
getting fit too. However, after some time you begin to see that all 3 of these
factors are, in fact, bollocks. Behold:
1.
The Cost. Oddly, my brain neglected to comprehend that although a bike did not
involve mechanical parts and petrol, you still had to buy it. With money. From
a shop. Now, although I awake every morning only to find fate has given my yet
another giant kick in the testicles, I remain an optimist. I trudged off to the
bike shop in the hope of securing myself a bicycle for around one hundred of
your earth pounds. This, apparently, is not possible. In retrospect, the
mistake I made was going to a proper bike shop and asking people who knew what
they were talking about. Len of Len’s Cycles asked me what I wanted. Realising
that Len was probably looking for more than ‘erm, a bike’, I spluttered out my
tale about commuting to work. Len of Len’s Cycles asked me what I wanted to
spend. I told him I was hoping for ‘something around £100, just middle of the
road’. Len of Len’s Cycles almost swallowed his tongue in shock. When he regained
his composure I was told that ‘middle of the road to us (us being the inbred
cycling fraternity it would appear) was about £500-£600’. I therefore quickly
moved my position on the aforementioned road from ‘middle’ to ‘shitty gutter’.
Even so, declared Len of Len’s Cycles, my £100 limit was ‘ambitious’. Now, I’d
been to Tesco’s and Argos – you can get bikes for £100. Len of Len’s Cycles anticipated this thought
pattern and informed me that such bikes would fall apart if I used them. I
nodded and followed Len ‘to the back’ – I was out of my element. ‘What kind of
bike were you looking for then?’ asked Len of Lens Cycles. I thought we’d been
over this with the whole £100 debacle, but apparently not. In a panic I blurted
out the first bike I knew. ‘Um, a mountain bike?’ I asked myself out loud. Len
of Len’s Cycles shook his head and went through a door marked ‘PRIVAT’. Not
wanting to invade the man’s privatcy, I waited awkwardly and enjoyed the aroma
of rubber and WD40. Len of Len’s Cycles reappeared with 2 bikes – one £230 the
other £300. Len of Len’s Cycles started talking technically but I blanked it
out and started to work on my ‘how to explain to the wife why I’ve just spend
£230 on a pushbike’ speech. When he finished I said I’d have the cheaper one.
Len of Len’s Cycles looked me up and down like a prize fighter examining the
opposition before declaring that ‘he’d thought I’d want the other one so I
could try out the disc-breaks’. Len of Len’s cycles was fully aware that I
didn’t have a clue what that meant, but he was hopeful of scaring me into
parting with another £70. ‘Fuck off Len’ I thought, before saying I was happy
with the cheaper one. Of course, you can’t just buy it and take it away. Oh no,
Len of Len’s Cycles has to run his magic eye over it and make sure the, erm,
gears are firm or some shite. Pay for it now; come back at 5pm I was told. So,
my card was debited £230 and I left with nothing to show for it. By the time
5pm came around the wife had persuaded me to get a helmet to go with the new
bike. £30 more for Len of Len’s Cycles - the twat.
2. The environment. Hey, the buses still run
even if you’re not on them. And you only truly appreciate how many cars are on
the road when half of the drivers have given you the finger and the other half
has tried to kill you.
3. Your getting fit. Hoho, no you’re not.
You’re shortening your life expectancy by joining the ‘desperately unfit
persons who overly exert themselves’ demographic. Plus, only the bottom half of
you gets the workout. No one cares what they look like below the waste. When
was the last time you heard someone remark ‘Jesus, never mind the six-pack, I
wish I had calves like that’.
So, that seems to draw a line through all
items in the positive column. But it gets worse: in addition to shitting all
over the presumed positives, there are more negatives than could possibly be
imagined. Time and bitter experience provide us with the following points:
1.
Continuous cost. Tyres puncture, chains break, it gets dark – all of these
things cost money to rectify. And nothing is cheap. More money for Len of Len’s
Cycles – the twat.
2. The British Weather. A walk in the wind or
rain can be bracing and character building. Riding a bike in the wind or rain
is excruciating, and not what’s needed at the end of the working day.
3. Motorists. They hate you and want to kill
you, even if they don’t realise it.
4. Youths. If the Tour de France had a sector
lined with bus-shelters full of cider drinking teens, I guarantee it would be
the fastest sector of the race. Even I can see that the day-glow jacket, helmet
and clips that I’m wearing mean it’s like moths to a flame for the chavs. In
fairness, they usually hurl the abuse before the bricks to give you some sort
of fighting chance.
5. The filth. Not the police you understand,
but the dirt from the road. Splattering occurs and it’s not pleasant. What’s
that you say Len? Buy a mudguard at vast cost? Gah.
6. Falling off. I’ve never fallen out of my
car. Enough said.
7. Nature. Insects, birds, dogs – they’re all
at it. Getting in your God-damned way. Fly-in-the-eye is a common one, but I’ve
actually been hit by a pigeon. A fucking pigeon! I thought there was some law
of physics that prevented such things, but it just goes to show that there are
ignorant bastards in the pigeon community as well.
So, to surmise: cycling gives you the moral
high ground. It does this because you are showing that you’re not afraid of a
little effort, you’re not reliant of machinery and you care about the planet. This
kudos is the overwhelming positive for cyclists as, even during a near death
experience with an 40 ton truck driven by someone who’s only had 4 hours sleep
in the last three days, you can think ‘I am a responsible citizen’. And even
given that cycling is a costly, inane, exhausting, gruelling, dirty, risky and
painful experience – it’s still better than getting the bus.
[1] not that Ghandi
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