It’s been a while since I’ve written a bicycle post, so here is one. It will be the equivalent of a quick spin down to the dairy and back.
While sometimes I’ve felt an overwhelming misanthropy out on the road in London – in myself and in other people, like we really are all just giant wheeled vermin – and have convinced myself that this is the ride on which I will definitely die, that feeling has always fallen away, somehow, like sanding away rust. It’s rubbed away by all the things I’ll miss about cycling in this city.
I’ll miss the everyday drama of cycling here, and the sharp contrasts you see in the city and in people. I’ll miss going over Waterloo Bridge, especially on empty Friday nights. I’ll miss the necessity of a bell on Tottenham Court Road, and Brixton Cycles and Bon Velo and their respective oil-and-new-tyres smells. I’ll even miss the length of my commute, which is long enough to spin me out of any funk I’ve got into during the night or the day.
I won’t miss graunching through the city at morning rush hour but I will miss the relief of breaking out into a clear stretch.
My bike will be going to New Zealand on a boat, so eventually I will meet it there and introduce it to some hills. We’ll have a time.
That’s about all I have to say for now about cycling in this city. Apart from this: can the cyclists who run red lights please stop doing that now, please? That would be good. One of you almost tore my arm off the other day. Thanks for reading.