The shards of hatred
When the missing hour of daylight saving is returned and the sun rises sixty minutes later to a clear sky it makes for a lovely Sunday morning. Out of bed with a song in my heart (or, actually, various speeches of Banquo on my mind) for the ride to the last match of a long cricket season.
We are playing in Curl Curl so I head Circular Quay-wards for the Manly ferry. Turning from Yurong Street into William I veer away from the painted green cycle lane that runs up the hill past the Museum. Unknown revellers, made unhappy, perhaps, by the darkness of Earth Hour, have broken bottles where they will most inconvenience cyclists. There are no other road-users to my right so I steer clear of the three spreads of glass shards.
I am lucky. Punctures would blight my day [and the days of team-mates wondering why Whitehead’s later than usual] but they didn’t. No drama.
And yet…. I could not avoid the nagging thought: “What if I had been in a separated bi-directional cycleway such as the one currently under construction in Bourke Street?”
At this time of year the combination of fallen leaves from, say, a Plane Tree, with smashed glass in a narrow runnel is a nasty surprise for pedalpushers. One resident of Bourke Street reckons the cycleway will be a great place to break bottles because he doesn’t like bikes and the SB-DC is a waste of money for wankers. Of course his views are not representative of everyone who lives in Bourke Street. There are others who really know how to hate.
If I do find myself in a shallow ditch between parked cars and a pedestrian walkway with no way out but past the seven cyclists single-file in front of me pushing up hill at walking pace it might be better that a puncture makes me stop.
One reason people ride pushbikes is to take liberties. To find their own safe space. Nanny-free.
by Peter Whitehead
