I’ve been promoted. In, like, a really short time, just a couple weeks, really, I’ve been elevated from The Bastard Cyclist from Hell!!! to fully-fledged ‘Terrorist’. And I started with such good intentions…

The problem is that riding electric bikes is totally addictive. Riding normal bikes is probably almost as good, but with more sweat and forced exercise. And no-one wants that. It’s the feeling of total ‘freedom’ which you get as you sit upon and switch on. And the fabulous power that the tiny little motor bestows upon you. I ride on power setting ‘5’. I have no idea what the other 4 are even there for.

This week, in case you missed it, and really, you’d have be actually dead to have missed that heat and sunshine, its been dry. And bright. And lovely. Plus, it’s the last week of school holidays so the traffic is just one eighth of its normal term-time lock-jam. So it seemed silly NOT to go in by bike a few times.

Traffic lights are (now) a minor issue. If it’s a big, complex, 4-way junction, I’ll sit there, almost patiently, even though I don’t have a ‘patience’ gland, it was removed at birth. And then I’ll go just like a normal ‘citizen’, when I’m green. But if it’s a more simple or quiet junction I’ll sit there for as long as it takes to ascertain the risk factor, and once that reaches zero, I’m gone. It’s a form of intolerant colour blindness. When you see a line of cars waiting for the lights, you go round them. It doesn’t matter which way you go. Inside is ok, outside a little trickier, the pavement my last resort. But I’ll do that any time to avoid sitting behind 3 cars. Because I can.

Google maps takes me quite a brilliant route to the City. Across the Heath Extension (cos its the only parkway in all of north London where bikes are actually allowed; all the others I just ride more carefully, more politely, cos I shouldn’t be there). In Camden I ride through a housing estate in a pedestrian only area, again, its part of ‘cycle route number 6’. I’ve never looked for the other 5.

Basically, NOTHING holds me up, slows me down or stops me. The whole process appeals greatly to my restless spirit. But once the weather turns bad again, once the traffic reaches school-term levels, when every South African woman gets her Range Rover out to drive little ‘Smits’ three blocks to school, oblivious to the world around her, I shall polish my bike and return it to the shed. To hibernate. Unless there’s another tube strike.

Happy Riding,

A xxxx