Flights were cancelled, trains delayed, roads congested, yet the snow that paralysed the British transport system the week before Christmas was not enough to stop the London cyclist. Smiling at pedestrians waiting for an overcrowded bus that took ages to arrive, hardcore cyclists rode on under the falling snow – advancing faster than the cars that cleared the roads for them.
In the daily battle for commuting, cyclists feel cleverer: independent, brave, unstoppable. In London you don’t just ride a bike – you are a cyclist. The bike as a means of transport of choice becomes a status symbol of sorts: under that fluorescent yellow jacket lies an individual with an environmental conscience, fit, casual, dynamic, strong enough to brave the 18-meter long monstrosity of bendy buses – red serpents that put venom on London streets.
As colleagues wondered what improvised way home to experiment as public transport failed due to the weather conditions, the London cyclist put his helmet on and waved goodbye in time to be home for the 6 o’clock news.
Having cycled in high heels to night clubs and blocked roads on my bike during environmental demonstrations, I can count myself among the smug lot of hardcore London cyclists. Ignoring all weather reports, on the coldest day of the year I sat on the icy saddle of my bike for my daily commute to work. When I entered a cycle lane off the main road, satisfied with myself at how early I would be for work, cycling suddenly became dangerously close to ice-skating. As the ice on the ground made my bike swerve and me fall, an old woman shook her head in disbelief at the lack of commonsense she was witnessing. With a bruised knee and tears in my eyes, I walked back home dragging along a broken bike. ‘Don’t enter that street!’ – I warned a fellow cyclist about to enter the cycle lane, probably saving his legs with my words.
While I lay on the couch in front of day-time TV with frozen peas on a swollen knee, I cried as desperately as a toddler. Turns out my knee was not broken: part of the pain came from hurt pride. On that icy road I lost the smugness of the London cyclist, aware that there is much more I could have lost.
