Thursday, 30 September 2010


HOW DO YOU DO...

A bicyclist


Riding over the metaphorically green yet moralistically boastful cycle route, overtaking Pashleys, city-suits and hot-head racers, becoming angry at the green light waiters and the any light chancers. I start to inwardly cry, as I am now part of this, part of this, this ugly hi-visibility, largely detestful commuting thrift drain.


I dreamed a dream of mountains high

Looking down at my racing bike that imagined a life of French Alps and got the Great Marlborough Street potholes I feel it deserved more. Though I quickly change tune when it’s tune decides to squeek and groan. Thinking it’s fun to rupture it’s own inner tube or for no reason the brake just falls off, the seat snaps my bag buggers up my brakes or the man who fixes all those things fails to tighten the wheel properly and causes me another £50 worth of wheel repair for my bike that only cost £40 to begin with.

I feel great sorrow for those beautiful streamlined racing machines under a sweaty hippo pedalling in first, with his house in paper form weighing on the wheels. I feel for those people who buy a Pashley because they think they’re cool or chic. Pashley’s were never cool; vintage Raleigh’s, old Dutch bone breakers, Triumphs, Bmx’s, those, (and my bike) those are decent bikes. Them big ass off-road mongoose bikes, the land rovers of the bike world, they’re cooler than a Pashley. Those fucking “I want to die,” lie down and peddle with my feet higher off the tarmac than my head, they’re cooler than you, Pashley. Bob with his new age shiny silver fold up child’s pram wheeled bike his work gave him half the money for is probably the only guy who’s less cool than you.


Come on

So if you’ve got a bike you probably hate me or hate yourself right now, fine, that’s good. If you haven’t you now see cyclist’s do have a) A heart that’s not filled up with leftist propaganda and b) A sense of honest shame for one’s kind like you, person.


Mind Mantra

The mindset of a cyclist is: avoid death, evade pedestrians stopping me from going fast, and go fast. It’s like you’re on a tightrope but the tightrope is only a foot off the ground but if you fall you’ll probably hurt yourself, so don’t fall.

Secret routes and sly corners are what it’s about, breathing monoxide is pretty much what fools do, hanging behind a bus that’s slurping up passengers while a tight but squeezable gap exists is sacrilege. When there is no one at the traffic lights, they’re is no need to wait. Amber is green, amber is green, red is almost amber which is green, kind of, ok maybe not. The point is common sense is paramount coupled to a generalised risk assessment weighted on the suicide side. Then, dodging through the taxis, cars and buses like a spaceship avoiding death is actually quite fun. Put some suitably 8 bit music on a mini boom box and it’s now level 10. Bim bim bim bim bim bim bim ewwwwwwwwwwwww, bi bo bi bo ohwwwww bi bo bi bo bi bi boo.


Miss or die?

Almost dying everyday can get a bit trivial, the method’s, graph-able; car swerving at me 13, bus head on 2, HGV and truck crush 9, pedestrian running out 4, car doors 3, sudden brake ahead 8, car cutting corner and me 10.


Graph showing Roger's possible chance of death





I often wonder if those bored squatters will paint up one of those white death bikes where I die so later on some other squatter’s can take all the parts off it and just leave a mankey frame chained to some rotting flowers around weepy wet cards. I wonder if my photo’s in the paper, if there is one, is it one of reckless stupidity (i.e. no sympathy) or dedicated concentration (could have been someone although he left it pretty late but look at that stare). I wonder if it’s a motorist that kills me and if he get’s his licence back will he fear the cyclist and give them a King’s hard shoulder of space, patiently waiting behind Grandma in her two speed mobility scooter. I wonder if by luck my helmet flies off giving me the satisfaction of dying not looking like a special needs outpatient.

I was told this was apparently morbid.


Splat

People with babies strapped to the front of their bikes, baby crash barriers. “It’s ok they don’t get scared, they’re facing me”. So when the little cherub cries out for Mum’s attention just as the juggernaut smacks into his spine, that teeny shitty brain unable to comprehend the resulting death from his beleaguered bleating. She’ll walk away with baby colon matted in her hair; pathetically whimpering, “I couldn’t have done anymore.”

You see dogs, cats, other bikes, twins even, shopping trolleys, trailers, and plasma TVs all strapped on and peddling down to doom town. I ride a bike to escape the responsibility of killing another thing, those fucks revel in it.


It’s your letters

I read the pages of papers with their letters bemoaning the lack of courtesy drivers give, like they are some sort of higher being that is above lights and pedestrians and a equal respect for cars, and I agree. And when the motorist writes back the next day lambasting the cyclists lack of proper highway etiquette making them their own worst enemies, I huff. I huff, poof and cut some poor taxi driver up mostly endangering myself that would fuel another letter the following morning.


(Bicycle) Superhighways

Those blue things that make your road look like a smurf’s just wiped his arse down your street, those are the future of cycling, you know, so this leaflet said that came through my door. These superhighways are the Mayor’s hope for London to eventually become more like Amsterdam. Is everyone ahead of him with this one, good.

Thing is, practically speaking there’s only two, so if you’re not say, going in either of those directions then their pretty much useless. Once I rode past the end of one and that’s the closest I been. It’s ok cos in five years they’ll be twelve so we’ll all be fine, as long as everything we need and want is along those routes and vehicles just don’t ignore them like their some sort of painted goading to reoccupy the taken territory.


Hi Vis, Hi de low

I don’t know what happened to fashion and bikes, but sometime, long ago they had a row, probably over trousers getting caught in the gear system or poo brown splash backs and they divorced. Many attempts have been made to reunite these scorned lovers: Helmets with that sporty set of swish holes in, cycle shorts, flat caps, bowler hats and mustaches all of which don’t get on with BRIGHT NEON YELLOW!


What choice

Comparing the various types of transport available to me: jog, walk, saunter, tube, motorbike, scooter, bus, car, bike and donkey. I think I’m best suited to the type I’ve got. I need to lose weight, I have a poultry income, I can’t afford to run or for that matter own or buy a car. Buses smell, tubes are far too impersonally awkward, walking is slow as, and donkey’s have fleas.


Well I don’t add to the environmental impact though do I? Ouch!

The smugness of a cyclist to a non-cyclist is roughly the same gloating self satisfaction reserved for non-smokers to smokers (believe me I’ve been on both ends.) In all honesty it’s generally well meaning recommendations, it just comes out like some twat trying to make you exercise and give up something you like whom himself looks still pretty unfit and withdrawn. I suppose at least we're not those circus rejects, the unicycler. These bunch of free as a bird fuck-fools think they’ve had enough of two wheels and have decided to jaunt down the pavement wobbling like adverts for fascism. I want to know their route, so I can grease up some corners. I’ll film it then send them the video everyday until they apologise for making the human race look so bad.


But why?

I don’t think you should ride a bicycle cos of the environmental impact or you just can’t be bothered to do recycling, your ethics are misplaced and you’d be better off going round putting corks up cow’s shitholes. I don’t think you should ride for your health, unless you’re mega fat and that would be purely for the amusement of others. I definitely don’t even think you should ride it cos you think riding’s cool, it isn’t, it’s often uncomfortable, wet, and knackering, you’re a dick, get over that stripy shirt and go sort your i tunes afro pop artwork out. I think you should ride a bike cos it’s fun and maybe cos you can’t afford the bus.



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