Red means ‘Go’
Once there was a cabbie who sped through red lights. He assured his terrified fares that his brother had tipped him off it was totally safe. His brother had been speeding through red lights for years and swore by it. Then he slams on his brakes when a light turns green. “What are you doing?” shriek his passengers. “Can’t be too careful – my brother’s in town.”
Last week I mentioned stopping at the lights at Kings Cross. A rare occurrence when there are not police vehicles in the vicinity, I admit. What can I say? I am a cyclist of a certain age – momentum is all. Even the finely-tooled equipage of the Shiny New Bike only allows aged legs to pedal beyond the pace of Usain Bolt downhill with a favourable zephyr. My riding is more comfort than speed. And stopping is not the cycling vibe.
A cartoon in that repository of British Tory righteousness, The Spectator, once showed traffic lights for cyclists – green, green and green. Had the Colonel Blimps harrumphing in amused outrage, no doubt.
But stop and think about these controlling lights on poles. As modern technology goes, those things are blinking idiots. Working strictly to rule unless the power goes off – a big tick to not-so-nifty Nath for keeping the lights on for several weeks in a row – those incessant drains on the grid will halt your progress even if there is not another vehicle in the postcode. Yet they might greenlight us into the random reckless road of crack dealers speeding from The Law.
The stop/start fits of city traffic provoke enough rage for the nuts behind the steering wheels. Perhaps the free flow of cyclists should be applauded for showing the way to a healthier future. I accept that I ignore the signals at my peril but let me reassure you I watch the traffic for my survival.
The first thought for anyone in charge of any vehicle must be ‘to do no harm’.
by Peter Whitehead
