Two days ago I was nearly killed on my bicycle, and not for the first time. Memory distorts; things get bigger, longer, colder, snowier; but as I remember Thursday morning, two inches and a half-second separate me writing this post from my living room from a hospital bed. I managed to break in the nick of time, but looking back it’s not the near-death aspect that is most frustrating; it’s that the motorist – who ignored a stop sign, looked only one direction and crossed through two lanes of segregated cycle lanes – was angry – no furious – with me when I complained (vociferously, admittedly). Luckily for him, he had his phone in his hand and headphones in his ears so he probably missed my lecture.
But this is not an isolated incident in the life of a London cyclist. I have had countless close calls with drivers who didn’t have the phone-in-hand distraction excuse. There was one red-van man who, after turning left directly in front of me, he felt compiled to jump out of his van and start swearing at me saying ‘he knew I would be upset’ and ‘didn’t I see his turn indicator?’ (The same indicator that was behind me, until it – and the rest of his 4-tonne van – was directly in my right-of-way). Even last night, a driver sped past me, less than a foot away from my right shoulder.
I don’t cycle far; I don’t cycle fast; I don’t jump red lights; I almost exclusively use quiet roads. I am not one of the ‘road warriors’, al la Charlie Almond, who cycle partially for exercise but more for the adrenaline of going into battle every morning and evening to come out the other side – lycra clad – with tales of busses overtaken and inattentive drivers dodged. Yes I have close calls all the time. And I am sad. And scared.
Of course, maybe I’m being scaredy-cat; after all, Boris Johnson says all you need to cycle the worst junctions (let alone quiet back roads) in London is your ‘wits about you’. Fine. Whatever. But what about my daughter’s wits? And, Boris, at what age do wits develop? 4? 6? 10? 17?
My daughter is only 14 months, but given the current state of cycling, I can’t fathom at what age I will allow her to cycle on her own anywhere. I don’t even think I will feel comfortable allowing her to cycle in front of me to Regent’s Park, less than a mile away, because of two terribly cycle-unfriendly intersections en route. This means that she is going to be artificially restricted in her movements because we, as a society, haven’t given her the right to exist on the roads. (As proof of this, see the recent story of a family who were referred to child protective services for allowing their two children to cycle to school. Or, as further proof, think in your own minds how you, my friends, would feel if I did allow my daughter when she is, say, six, to cycle a half-mile through Camden.)
But it doesn’t have to be this way for our children or us; we know this from direct experience of cities on the continent. Yet, here we have allowed ourselves to be written out of our own cities in almost total deference to the automobile.
I believe strongly that this is a problem and a problem that can be fixed; however – and here’s perhaps the saddest thing – I have broached this topic with a half-dozen of my closest friends. And, almost without exception, I have received responses ranging from indifference to outright anger at my position. I can only assume that up until now that my arguments have been misinterpreted. I’m not demanding that cars be banned from central London; I’m not asking for 100% equal space; I’m only asking for tangible, real safety measures to be put in place to protect me and other cyclists.
So why write this now, today? Yes, I am frustrated by the tepid-to-frosty responses I’ve received when discussing this with friends thus far. Yes, I’ve just recently almost been run off the road for the umpteenth time. And yes, I’m, in turn, angry by the complete lack of respect you get when you step foot on a bike instead of on a clutch. But, mainly, it’s because, for the first time since I started cycling that I actually have hope that it could get better.
The Times (2) just launched a cycle campaign aimed at improving the safety of our roads for cyclists. (3) Nobody has all the answers (they have, in fact, 8 recommendations). But let’s start simple with point 4 of 8: Have the Highways Agency set aside 2% – only two percent – of the road transportation budget to cycling infrastructure. That’s real money, by the way: £100m a year. And by infrastructure, I don’t mean blue paint. I mean proper, segregated cycle paths that make cyclists safe.(4) This has to be enough money, right?! Well spent it will allow all of us – parents, godparents, extended uncles and aunts and friends – to do right for a little girl.
So you’re not a cyclist. Fine. The issue still should resonate because you know at least one person who is a cyclist. And you probably know his daughter; and, say what you want about the father, you love that little girl, and you probably don’t want her to grow up without a father.
Nothing will change until you, the non-cyclists, get behind the people you love who, in turn, love a cyclist.
Bryan
- Utrecht effectively solved their traffic problem by banning cars altogether in their town centre
- The Times is mostly owned by Rupert Murdoch, perhaps the worst man in the world. So I have mixed feelings supporting a Times-led initiative. Also, there have been numerous, better, pro-cycling initiatives already running, but sometimes you have to back a late-entering favourite who has some money behind it. And I hope that this is the push that is needed.
- For those of you who – like the angry van man I encountered – think that only motorists own the roads because they pay ‘road tax’, please see this article which explains that there is no such thing as road tax, only vehicle excise duty. So bicycles and electric cars are equally untaxed. Thank Winston Churchill for that.
- Note at the beginning I was almost killed on one of the few segregated cycle paths in North London. There are other provisions in the manifesto that would have addressed that particular run-in. Cyclist training, which is included in the manifesto, probably saved my life on Thursday morning.
