Time for a rant about cyclists. I have been cycling around London for the last eight years, and there are several ‘types’ of so-called cyclists that I want to hurl a stick into their spokes and end them for good.
The Suburban Architect
The SA is one of the key offenders on the road. They are the ones who cycle really fucking slowly and get in your way when you – the proper cyclist on a proper big bike – is trying to get to work and actually work up a sweat in the process. The SA snails along, all smug with their over-priced toy bike, which they put on the train from Richmond anyway, so what’s the point?
The Big Girl
I am a girl but these Big Girls are the ones that should be banned from getting on two wheels. With their baskets and flouncey skirts, these BGs will only take their bikes out for a spin to the local organic deli within a 0.5 mile radius of where they live, as they are “just too scared to be on the roads”. Sniffle. BGs – a word of advice – go to Pilates instead and do us all a favour.
These are one of the most annoying breeds on the road. Clearly at home around the EC2 radius – mainly London Fields/Broadway Market – the HC uses the fixed wheel as some kind of cultural capital within his/her peer group. Who gives a frig that your wheels are flourescent orange? And yes, the colour of the spokes do match your socks – well fucking done. Look out HC, prepare to be knocked off your bike by a random stranger very soon.
Freaks on Wheels
There are a number of types to profile here. Where to start? There’s the mentally challenged middle-aged man who takes to the streets on a Penny Farthing. The bearded lunatic who cycles through the City blowing a whistle at all the pedestrians. And the Rastafarian in Lewisham who houses a mobile radio station on the back of his £5 bike. Thank you, dear sirs, for bringing us colour to the cycling community that we don’t really need.
Oh, I forgot to profile myself. I’m the:
Usually hungover, late for work. Ignoring red lights. Shouty. See you on the road.