Blog 136: Back in the Saddle

Britain has seen a new face of oppression and of fear. Where once there were bikers, hoodies, chavs, people with ASBOs, skinheads and those scary people who wear lots of black and make up, a new hydra raises up its head.

They have a disregard for the rules. They do whatever they want to, regardless of the law or what others feel. And the worst part is that the law, as it stands at this moment, protects them.

This new problem finds itself around towns like where I live, invading roads, and even some cafes. These lycra-clad evil doers have become far too common in the last few years and today I realised that it had gone far enough.

Cyclists are really annoying.

There they are, cycling away. The fact that they're not actually in any professional competition doesn't stop them from wearing the tightest clothes. They say its so they can shave a few milliseconds off their time, but I doubt if a casual sunday ride will be completely ruined if they were out on their bikes a bit longer. I mean, if they love cycling so much, surely they'd all wear as much of their clothes as possible so they can be out longer? The real victims, of course, are those who have their...ahem..."stuff"... waggling around in front of us like a pendulum while we're trying to keep our eyes on the road.

And do they just like, go into shops like that? "Oh hello Gary, sorry I'm milliseconds late for Lydia's funeral but I haven't shaved my legs today. Do you mind if I just sit in the front row in my sweaty not-so-super-hero costume, with everything just hanging out?"

They cycle right in the middle. The amount of mental over-takes I've had to do in my little car is ridiculous. Flinging my little tiny matchbox car into the other lane to get around a bicycle happens way too often. There I go, rattling away like a Scalextric with an engine that can barely cope with rapid acceleration, flying towards a massive lorry while someone dressed up like a feminine transformer wobbles around in the middle of the road. At rush hour. On a main road.

But ok, the roads aren't just for cars I suppose. It's probably for the best that they're not cycling on pavements. But if you're gonna stop your bike and pull up next to your friend to have a chat about what the best cream is to use when shaving legs, I'm sure you could do that on the pavement. Or you know, anywhere that's not taking up an entire lane, on a bend. So I'm there either beeping my horn at two skinny teletubbies who for some reason are giving me evils, or again, I'm overtaking in ways that would make Vin Diesel wet himself.

Pedestrian crossings? Ah who cares, I'm on a bike. WOOO! Roundabouts? Meh, I'm on a bike. All road courtesy, sense and rules go right out the window when you're on a bike (not that they have a window). Flinging past pedestrian crossings when there's clearly a load of cars stopped to wait for the old woman who's crossing is not a good idea. Because you might hit her, and going the speed your going, you might kill her. The cars are stopping because it's the law and because they don't want to kill anybody. You're not stopping, and it's not because of some rule where if you're a cyclist, you're allowed to kill people. You're still not allowed to kill people. Stop. Going. Around. Like. Crazy.

The worst bit? Did you know, apparently if a car hits a cyclist, it's automatically the car's fault (well, the driver's fault). So if a car hits a cyclist who's decided roundabouts are only for people without skin tight clothes and flings in front of the car at 30mph out of nowhere, it's the car's fault. If a car hits a cyclist who is wearing black lycra, on a dark road, at night, with no lights on, or even one tiny naff light on the other side of the bike to the car, then that's the cars fault. As a result, cyclists have got this weird sense of safety, and do the most insane stunts, flying around, backflipping, bouncing here and there and all over the place, oblivious to the screeching brakes and tyres flying off and crashing into shop windows and the utter destruction their bikes leave in their wake.

By the way, if you go to Cambridge, the cyclists get road rage and shout at you. Which annoys me but it's also kinda funny so they can carry on if they like. And they don't wear lycra. They wear tweed.