Nearside Broadside

A bike ride.

On a bright, dry and windless day what could better as a recreational pursuit combining a bit of healthy exercise with fresh air and a sense of well being. It can be a bit of a return to nature if in the fortunate position of being able to access the open road and countryside . For those living in the heart of a city there can be good miles of cycling on the course of an old railway line ,along the banks of a river or the towpath of a canal.

At first and if new to the joys of biking altogether there can be a pain barrier to break through in the initial weeks but as the miles are totted up there is a tangible sensation of the effort being slightly easier and therefore more pleasurable.

From being constantly overtaken by all manner and form of fellow cyclists you begin to notice that with a degree of fitness this quickly ceases and soon the day will come when you find yourself in active pursuit of someone glimpsed in fluorescent green or yellow up ahead and with determination catching them up, passing them with even breath and gradually pulling away to leave them wallowing in your slipstream.

It is a sweet moment, that first overtaking manoevre and it is to be savoured for ever.

All of this sounds idyllic and it would be if the only road users were those propelling themselves on two wheels.

Add to the equation men in white vans, distracted parents with unruly back seat kids, drivers of HGV's reading the newspaper whilst in motion, the newer drivers fiddling with their I-Pod connectivity, bus drivers, the Ringtons Tea delivery men and OAP's in Japanese hatchbacks and the open road becomes a battle ground for the safety and welfare of the vulnerable cyclist.

I have had the misfortune to go through a car windscreen after having been hit head on by a motorist whilst out riding. I still firmly believe today that two critical factors saved me from serious injury or death. The first was my wholehearted acceptance in the seconds prior to impact that I was going to be hit. I could do nothing to avoid it and so just relaxed every muscle and sinew in my body. This contributed to my soft rolling up the bonnet and into the Triplex glass rather than being braced,stiff and rigid.

The other was the pedigree of the bike I was riding. I had bought it from Dave Marsh Frames in South Yorkshire as a winter bike. It was a budget machine but the tubing was Reynolds 531, strong and light so even after bolting on all of my spare equipment plus mudguards, chunky wheels and tyres and lights it was manageable in weight.

When hitting the front of the Vauxhall Cavalier the frame buckled and absorbed the kinetic energy but did not snap or fracture and this eased my floppy torso over the nosing of the car and up the slope of the bonnet.

Since then I have been quite defensive when in traffic and not a little bit prickly and aggressive towards the sloppy, inattentive, careless and reckless behind the steering wheels of their seemingly sovereign territory.

It is a fact that many of us, and I include myself in this category, have used a car to vent pent up anger and frustration accumulated in our daily lives. Conversely when in happy and exalted mood the car becomes a celebratory tool with music blaring out from the CD player accompanied by a shimmying across the white lines in the centre of the carriageway.

It may feel good to put your foot hard down and drive in a mad frenzy just for the sheer hell raising sensation or just to get to an appointment for which you are already very late.

In such a mind set the last thing you want to encounter is a cyclist of whatever ability or road sense taking up what you regard as your personal traffic lane.

From what I have observed from the saddle many drivers just switch off their perception of speed, hazards and any sense of empathy with other human beings eminently entitled to undertake a journey.

After all a car is a solid chunk of metal, unbendable, packed with airbags and safety features that will surely cocoon you from any harm in the event of a collision or incident. Isn't it?

In my charmed life on my bike I have been escorted around a corner against the side of a car driven by a very small and frail old lady. When she found me on her driveway farther down the cul de sac holding onto the guttering of her Metro she looked genuinely surprised and called me "a naughty boy".

I have been pushed forward by a car bumper towards oncoming traffic at a traffic light junction. The occupants of the vehicle, a whole family of mum, dad and kids thought it was hilarious.

Passing cars have ejected litter and liquids at me which I would hesitate to identify without a forensic investigation team.

One driver who squeezed me out of a narrowing road section felt aggrieved at my quite calm and polite protest but would not wind down his window to engage in conversation. His wife, in the passenger seat hid her face out of embarassment at the sight of two grown men in a verbal sparring contest.

I think that, on that occasion, I took the moral victory.

Just today I was approaching a sharp bend when a Volvo, normally a placidly driven brand, attempted to get past and by doing so cut into my legitimate line of cycling. It was a close thing. I was certain I could smell the air freshener dangling on the rear view mirror. My right leg was almost severed by the nearside wing mirror and it took some effort and counterbalancing not to be thrown under the rear nearside wheels.

I was too shocked to react at first but recovered enough to give a universal hand gesture of unhappiness.

The car, with three occupants, just carried on and did perceptibly speed up to flee the scene. I had no hope of catching them up and after they disappeared around the bend into the next village I just marked it up as a near-miss.

As I rode out of the built up area I saw the same car in a driveway less the driver.

I approached after being waved at by the person in the back. It was a very wizened old lady sat next to a lawnmower. She was a bit confused and what I thought was an apologetic gesture was in fact a muscle spasm of her tired body. The front passenger was a young lad, early teens. I was perfectly calm and lucid and I think that he accepted my point of view on the proximity of the car a few minutes before.

He said that his mother was in the house. She emerged carrying a vacuum cleaner and a brush. I made my case but she was fairly nonchalant and indeed accused me of harassing her son and the old lady. Some people, eh?

I gave up at that point and just walked away. I made a mental note to, on subsequent rides, avoid any possible route that Mrs Mop the Menace could possibly ever take.

I like to think that my reasoned approach in drawing attention to her crap driving may at least save another fellow cyclist from a similar but less favourable outcome.