Category: Bikes

Tens of thousands of words and the odd blurred picture of fast moving vegetation rehashing one of two tenuous threads. Spliced together using random punctuation and alcohol.

Hospital Diary: Day 1

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff, Pretentious nonsense, Site Stuff10 Comments

In the last five years, Mountain Biking has taken me to many special places. Almost none of these include prolonged stays in hospital. Oh I’ve crashed a lot, escaped painful injury through a combination of lady luck and body armour while ferrying/carrying/laughing at those unfortunates who have collected scars, plaster casts and hospital food as badges of honour.

Of course it’ll never happen to me. I’m too busy/nesh/careful to have an accident requiring hospitalisation. Especially on a day I’d no intention to ride. Realistically hammering a nail through an unsuspecting finger or receiving a paint based toxicology injury were far more likely. Yep, that was me, rebel with a paintbrush.

What follows is chronologically romp through the low and lower points of the following four days. Please don’t misunderstand me here; I’ve not edited out the high points; there just weren’t any.

Sunday

15:30
Received pleading text message from Andy desperate for a beer with a pre-ride chaser. The happy discovery that my slapdash “chuck it at the fence and see what sticks” painting technique had exhausted our paint supplies, created a window of opportunity through which I joyfully jumped and headed out to the trails.

16:30
Since riding was cutting deep into our drinking time, we raced sun baked dusty trails serially excusing piss poor performance through pointlessly high corner entry speeds, poor line choice and fitness grown fat on summer beer. Kicking dust motes skywards silhouetted against a falling sun, we revelled in the rock hard ground – riding fast and loose on trails cartographed into my mind and hard wired into my muscles.

Much much more fun than anything with a paintbrush.

Heading pubwards on a cheeky evening bridleway with only the sound of Andy’s chattering forks inches from my rear tyre for company, the off camber, steep sided flinty trail was treated with lofty disdain which familiarity breeds. I mean this is the benign Chilterns for God’s sake, there’s nothing dangerous here and there is no way I’m letting the old fat fella get past me. Bragging rights over a cold beer await.

16:31
Oh dear. I appear to have crashed rather badly.

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16:33
Andy, fellow professional northerner and trained first aider, took a look at the damage while pointedly ignoring my whimpering. The knee looked dreadful but didn’t hurt much. Well not as much as a wrist to shoulder wound filled with trail dirt and seasoned heavily with AB rhesus positive. And my shoulders were spasming amusingly not due to the original crash rather Andy’s riderless bike smashing into them while I lie prone and winded. Talk about adding insult to injury – the insult was “fucking hell, aren’t I suffering enough?”

16:35
“Tha’ll be needing to get that to ‘ospital lad” Andy offered while pouring cold water into open wounds and fashioning bandages from handkerchiefs. “Can tha ride?” he asked followed by a scratch of the chin and a reflective “Tha’d better be able to cause its fooking miles back t’car”” Who could refuse such an offer as that?

It wasn”t that bad actually as long as I didn’t look at it. Other trail users looked aghast as flaps of skin spitting blood were accompanied by a cheery “nothing to worry about, a mere flesh wound“. Adrenalin is a fine pain killer, it just doesn’t last very long.

16:50
It lasted long enough for Andy to drive me to hospital and to be gently prodded by the triage nurse. “How did you do this then?” she innocently enquired to which I couldn’t help but reply “Badly executed throw at the All-Chiltern Herring Chucking Contest” which earned me a tighter bandage that I would otherwise expected. I’m assuming this was also the reason she spurned my offer to clean up my arm during the expected two hour wait to be treated. Instead I took her advice that “somebody who knows what they’re doing should sort that for you” and watch it form a painful crust infused with bits of tree and rock.

17:30
My knee hurts now. Andy’s taken the car and bikes and my wife and kids’ll be back soon. I feel like an idiot. I also feel like some strong painkillers would be in order. Still the thought of a couple of medicinal Scotches post stitching keeps my spirits up.

18:30
Amazing I mused. Apparently we’ve put twice as much money into the NHS over the last seven years than during the previous period. Is it just me wondering where all the bloody money went? The magazine collection kept me amused if not interested. Aside from the thousand facsimiles of Womans Weekly – content “10 ways to get thin this summer”, “Why Men are Bastards” and “Asparagus – the forgotten vegetable” – I was left with those bastions of the hospital circuit “Coarse Fishing” and “What Caravan“” (answer NONE).

Alternating a page of each which is quite amusing in a “Who the hell leaves this stuff here?” way. Why no playboy even with the pages stuck together? I’m building a theory that old magazines never die, they just shuffle off into a parallel waiting room existence. Go on, try and and find “Carp World incorporating who gives a fuck” in any proper retailer. Never going to happen.

18:50
Finally called with a few others to the “Minor Injuries Unit“. Minor Injury, excuse me I don’t want to go all Tony Hancock on you here but I’ve almost lost a leg. Wife and Kids turn up wanting to see the damage – find pissed off dad/husband wanting to get this over with and go home. Sweaty, tired and in a bit of pain but mostly playing it back through my mind – how did I fall off there right on my doorstep. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

19:30
Still here. Still not been seen. Lots of ill looking people. Want to be out of here more than almost anything. One child accidentally knocks bloody knee. Consider adoption.

19:50
“Oh that’s pretty bad, we may need to keep you in” was the initial assessment of a rather jolly nurse called Peter. Nurse? Bloke? Is it just me? Anyway, the Doctor on call is a bit busy so they’ll send me to X-Ray just in case there’s bone floating about in there. Suddenly this has got a little serious. Keep me in? Jesus, that was like meeting the grim reaper down the pub. Talk about unexpected and scary.

20:00
Arrive at X-Ray. Radiologist is in theatre dealing with an emergency. That’s not me then. I spend some quality time counting bricks in a wall and reading how Kylie conquered breast cancer. Think she probably didn’t have to deal with the NHS, shame a bit of a sing song would cheer the “Non X-Ray’d 4″ up no end. My three companions are in various states of dress and physical fitness. Between us there’s probably one healthy body. Hope no one gets my liver.

20:30
Pontificating on whether I could pay BUPA to pick me up and pamper me senseless even if I have to mortgage the house. Knee swollen and painful, arm not really any use as the blood/scar tissue have set solid. Mind on a loop “stupid, stupid, stupid“

20:45
Hot Spare Radiologist arrives. Hurray! Two other cases more important than me and since once is strapped to a spinal board and the other is a young women in serious finger pain (having dislocated said digit prodding her boyfriend – man he’s trying hard not to piss himself laughing), I can hardly complain.

21:10
Third case more important. Irritatingly tap non injured leg and barely contain urge to scream at someone.

21:30
“Can you lay you knee flat?” “oooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwww ohfuckohfuckno” “okay then, do the best you can“. She’s being nice but clearly thinks I’m being a total wimp.

22:00
Back in the Minor Injuries unit feeling majorly injured. Dislocated finger girl screaming as they try to point her digit the same way as the other three. Christ I hate hospitals, they are full of sick people.

Finally Doctor bloke walks in looking knackered and stressed. He’s way younger than me but even more world weary. Takes a look, makes a noise like the car mechanic when explaining that a million pounds might just cover it, and instructs various minions to clean out the wounds so he can stitch it.

22:10
Wow we’re really moving now. Male Nurse (ug, is it still me?) is a top bloke and decides there is no way they can clean it without either knocking me out or giving me a stick to chew on. We agree on a halfway house where he injects anaesthetic into the open wound. I’ll not forget that in a hurry. I ask for the stick anyway. Here’s a tip – when someone wearing any kind of medical attire apologises with “this may hurt a bit“they really are leveraging the power of understatement.

22:20
Bliss. Knee is on planet pissed and I can#t feel anything. Purple haired nurse turns up and cleans it out bringing forth an extraordinary cocktail of trail debris. Any minute now I’m expecting that scene out of alien and something badger sized to leap out of the gaping wound. My disappointment deepened when the non anesthetised arm is at the mercy of what I can only describe as a hygienic wire brush. Bring back the needles. And the stick.

23:10
Anaesthetic wearing off. This is not good as the Doc has to stitch this and the though of him wielding the needle on swollen, tender skin has me on the wrong side of extremely perturbed. Carol’s logistically perfect as ever and grimly endures my whinging monologue happy in the knowledge that Andy – parenting technique: “tha makes any noise and I’ll put pair of ya in t’cooking pot”. is now looking after the kids at home.

23:30
Doc returns breathless apologising for his tardiness. I’m a bit irritated and it shows but he spreads his hands wide and explains “I’ve been dealing with a brain tumour“. That’s me told then. I hope it’s not his own, scars I can live with, a non working knee ruthlessly removes bikes from my future. That’s almost as bad as losing a drinking arm.

Before he can stitch the knee, he must ensure the bone isn’t perforated. More syringes filled with saline are injected into the bone and any sprinkler like results mean major surgery.

Three times he tries and three times he hits bone. Oh fucking hell that really hurts. Really stupidly elbow bitingly hurts. Like a knife cutting into the bone and twisting and then twisting some more. He leaves looking concerned and I’m convinced he’s off to find a bigger needle and Steve Backley to javelin it in from the next ward.

23:45
Consultant arrives. Hes even younger. Jeez, I’m the one wearing short trousers here, surely it should be the other way round? They consult in whispers and then Doc is back to deliver the painful news: “were admitting you, it’s just not clean enough, they’ll have to angle grind it out under a general“. Or something like that.

Great. Bloody Great. Seven hours, not insignificant suffering and only now do you decide it’s too late to do get to theatre tonight. Apparently the op will be tomorrow but I’m wise to the schedule now. If I leave before they send me out in a nice pine coffin, I’ll be lucky.

24:00
Hello? Anyone there?

00:30 Wheeled up to the ward in the new part of the hospital. You can tell as the lifts work and it doesn’t smell of piss and pain. Ward seven is my new home and the bed is clean and comfortable. I wonder if it’s too late for food since the last meal was some twelve hours before. The nurse shakes her head pointing apologetically to the “Nil By Mouth” crayoned on my notes.

But would I like some painkillers. Is the bear a pope? I don’t know what they are but within minutes I’m back on the pain free planet idly wondering if the worst is over.

Yeah right.

Follow this for the diary of Day 2

Oh the irony

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road RidingLeave a comment

Odd feeling getting off the train this morning and not getting on my bike. The descent in the tube matched the depths of irritation that these bowels of London always bring. Tube was packed, hot and horrid even at 7:40 in the morning. I’d forgotten how rude everyone is.

Crossing The Strand as the electronic pedestrian flashed, I was nearly mown down by a cyclist. This would have been whimsically amusing had three more not flashed past in the blink of an eye nailing me to the crossing afraid to move.

Still it was my fault, I was on the crossing so I knew the risks.

I want my bike back. Being a pedestrian is no fun at all.

And they’re out!

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff5 Comments

It was all a bit touch and go. The nurse wasn’t keen to remove all the stitches as apparently “it’s still a bit loose and sloppy up there”. She was referring to my knee I think. Still I refused to leave the sanctuary of the out patients ward until she relented under my extreme whining.

We agreed that I couldn’t cycle on it for a week (boo) and that it’d have to have a dressing so the “bag knee” shower attachment has some work yet (double boo) but that’d it fine for me to go riding in Scotland next week.

I didn’t mention that it was kind of super rough off road riding with big rocks, huge climbs, knee jarring descents etc. There didn’t seem to be the right time to mention it.

Still my mood of extreme lightness was dimmed to the almost black by the belated realisation that as from tomorrow I’ll be back in the sweaty underworld of the tube. Oh how much fun is that going to be? Almost none is the optimistic answer.

Also the bike that is going to scotland is almost as wobbly as my knee. It has suffered a complex component failure that requires a plethora of tools I don’t even know where to buy. Apparently just twatting it with a hammer isn’t going to solve the problem.

Every cloud and all that tho – an excuse to buy some more shiny tools to adorn the “wall of death” where the other implements of destruction lie waiting for their next victim.

Progress of a sort

On By AlexIn Pretentious nonsense5 Comments

Now there is probably a serious social anthropometric statement to be made here. But we’ll ignore such pretentious nonsense and instead focus on the amusing backlash against product marketing and demand creation. Christ that sounds almost as bad “ let me tell you what I’m talking about.

Work gave me one of these.

It’s super clever “ a synchronised repository for all my e-mail, text messages and calendaring. Essentially a phone shaped device pretending to be half a PC and if that’s not enough it’s equipped with more communications modes than NASA; Bluetooth, infrared, GPRS, Analogue and an electronic facsimile of morse code. Okay, I made one of those up but honestly, the last time I saw so much amazing stuff in a small package, it was filled with class A drugs.

Obviously that was a long time ago and I was only looking. Ahem.

Oh it’s a phone as well. It has a decent camera and if that wasn’t enough offers several million ring polyphonic ring tones, infinite classes to which you can assign contacts, some kind of smart dialling where the number is whipped straight out of your mind and dialled before you can say what the fuck is happening here” and other advanced stuff buried deep in a manual that is comically four times the size of the device. I can’t just call it a phone, I’ll get sued.

There is just one incy problem with it. It’s a bloody useless phone. Actually it’s pretty useless as a PC as well and the camera is just an excuse to toss drunken photos of body parts to your mates over a communication medium that was developed for targeting missiles. Is it just me that sees this as a tad ironic? Apparently porn is going to be the biggest growth sector (excuse me?) on these multi media monstrosities with Video taking the lead for those who can’t wait to get home to wank over keyboards. Maybe I’m getting old but it smacks of desperation. Download a 30 second image on a tiny screen and knock one out in the toilets. Maybe it’s time to bring back those tyre catalogues that used to adorn the walls of garages. It’d save a fortune on GPRS charges.

Anyway I’m delighted to hear that it’s not just me that’s whinging at the apparent solutions looking for problems or should that be revenue. The ubiquitous Nokia 6210 is now the most sought after phone on Ebay after it went out of production two years ago.

It has no camera, the battery lasts for ever, you can make and receive calls and “ get this kids “ that’s it! No Java Games, no cut down operating system running Anti Virus scans and bastardised PC applications. No way of receiving your email but decent size keypads so you can text without playing hunt the key. It is essentially a phone. What a fantastic idea.

Apparently they are now selling on Ebay for more than the original retail price. Now that’s properly funny.

I was going to write some snide comment about what drives product development and how we’re all slaves to marketing in that we don’t care what’s best, we only care what’s new. Still having looked at my extensive bike collection with no component older than a decent wine, it may smack of hypocrisy, so I’ll shut up.

Well for the moment at least.

Front end washout

On By AlexIn BikesLeave a comment

Not some strange meteorological system rather an overarching description of the Leigh family three’s summer accidents. First Verbal discovered gears and understeer at about the same time and binned the front end on a gravel track corner leaving her with a line of scars running from cheek to ankle. This took quite a lot of ice cream and attention before she accepted it was probably non fatal.

Then my attempt to imbibe Chiltern flint through high speed osmosis spookily also at the painful end of a wheel tucking under on a fast corner. Twice might be a coincidence but today it became clear this is some kind of genealogical malfunction that affects this entire branch of the family.

The local cycling route sees us head up the road and then down into the cemetery (verbal quote dad, are there lots of dead people here?”) which has a simple concrete loop on a slight gradient. Random disappeared down the hill with all the cautiousness and care that define a five year old. I couldn’t chase her on account of my still dodgy knee but her cries of pain some five seconds later did for my ears what my eyes couldn’t see.

We found her lying in the middle of the first corner having “ yep you guessed it “ overcooked the entry and instinctively turned in harder to the point where gravity defeats grip and road beats bare skin. She was fine though and after a little blub bravely took back to the track for many more circuits although with a noticeable decrease in rumbustuousness.

Verbal rides round with a thunderous expression as if someone has asked her to tidy her room for the rest of her natural life. Short of lining the route with ice cream or promising her a video of her efforts, I think she’s possibly not going to enjoy the sport as much as I do.

So three accidents, three front end washouts. You know what this means? We all clearly need new bikes. There’s no way we can all be that rubbish.

Oh and I checked about the bike frame. It’s two testicles. Tough call.

Nice weather shame about the knee.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuffLeave a comment

Well I’m back and I’m sad. And I mean that in a downcast, miserable cat kicking way rather than the post modern definition of a man who collects, polishes and proudly displays doorknobs as a hobby. And just to prove that this poorly researched, grammatically suspect blog has at least some basis in fact, I Googled Door Knob collection” and was rewarded by some interesting and stimulating web sites. I’ll not encourage them by putting a link in here but if you really feel you must know more about this fascinating pastime, Ebay is a good start.

No I’m sad because the weather has shades and shadows of 2003 and I can’t ride my bike. I know this to be a shallow and selfish sentiment mainly because my wife made this clear to me after I’d mentioned the root of my glumness for about the 1000th time. I was considering a little retail therapy in the form of a new frame to tide me over but it’s hard to know which testicle I don’t really need.

Still the blood red one would remind me of why I couldn’t ride. That’s justification enough surely?

Checks testicles. Apparently not. Nick over at 32Sixteen has one and is flauntingly enjoying it.

Anyway we’ve just ordered sufficient stones to empty a decent sized quarry. Think pyramid building with a few thousand hapless slaves lumping squared off rocks up spiralling verticals. Except in this case, that’ll be me portaging a few hundred slabs a hundred feet from the front garden as the delivery truck is too wide or our drive is too narrow. Whichever one it is, muggins here will be redployed as a pack horse. Unbelievably this Stonehenge like monument has cost almost as much as a new bike frame. I’m embaressed to admit I have an economics O level and it makes no sense to me at all.

Rock Hauling is based on the nice man in the hospital removing the external stitches on Monday. I’ve been sloughing skin like a fat snake and scabby deposits map out my route through the house. When the dressing was changed on Monday “ an incident which I endured through a finger mask and much gurning “ the repair looked pretty damn good especially when compared to the gaping maw that had preceeded it.

If they don’t take the stitches out on Monday, I shall be unavailable for comment having an uber grump in a dark corner and considering the potential joy of collecting door furniture.

Forget hangover cures…

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding15 Comments

I need something slightly stronger for this:

Riding on Sunday as an excuse to go for a couple of beers. Lost the front end on an off camber corner and ripped open my knee (and other various body parts) on some Chiltern flint. Couldn’t helped noticing that when I was looking at my knee, the tendon was staring back at me. That’s not right I thought and it wasn’t.

Seven hours in A&E while they prodded, cleaned, injected into the open wound and before deciding it’d have to be cleaned out under a general. Of those seven hours, about one hour was being treated while the other six were spent waiting for x-rays, doctors, consultants and lots of other busy people. Still nice to see the NHS is staffed up on all our Taxes eh?

Next day they didn’t do the op as they were busy. That’s ok as I didn’t really want to eat or drink anything for 30 hours while they threatened to take me to theatre. Finally cleaned and stitched it up on Tuesday and sent me home today mainly as I am the man who put the patient into impatient.

10 days before the stitches come out. Can’t have a shower, can’t drive, can’t do more than a comedy shuffle. Wife not impressed as we’re on hols next week and my contribution will likely be lying in a chair drinking beer.

And in case you’re interested, yes it bloody hurts.

Hangovers and headwinds

On By AlexIn BikesLeave a comment

A simple question. Why is it in the midst of a glorious summer under a sun kissed sky and riding on baking tarmac does an unruly headwind whip out of the annoying cupboard and beast you on the way to work? This only happens when you’re hungover. Trust me, I’ve done extensive research and my liver has suffered enough to definitively prove the hypothesis.

Thursday night after a couple* of beers and the odd healthy Malboro light (the diet of the true athlete), I literally flew home surfing on a heady toxin of endorphins and Amstal. Come the morning, the meteorological phenomena laymanly known as that bastard headwind” was in full force pushing me backwards and reminding me of what I’d eaten the previous night.

Not even the introduction of a Bacon Sandwich and a pained expression stemmed the flow of wind. In fact, one could probably effectively argue it increased it. Hangovers you see, they fire up the wind generator and mock you in a temperate fashion.

* Note: this value has had the Dimension Transitional Wife Adjustment applied. Usually this ratio reduces the original value by a factor of 3. Therefore comments such as Yeah, I just had a quick one with the boys and hurried home” have clearly been modified by DTWA.

It’s dropped off!

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding9 Comments

It’s been an odd weekend “ not totally fulfilling nor entirely without incident but odd none the less.

Firstly “ and you may wish to imitate the sound of a one person’s ego trumpet being sounded here “ I managed to limp off that total mind fuck that is the log drop at Chicksands. It looks a bit like this.

For those of you who don’t ride bikes, think of the challenge as essentially riding off a small cliff with no ground visible whatsoever as you fly blindly into space. For those of you who do, I’ll just lightly bask in your adoration.

There are a few caveats though. Firstly it’s taken a year of non progression to get this far. June 26th 2005 was a date neon pinked in the ride diary as I conquered the qualifier for the log drop. Once you’ve done the large ladder (drop 5-6 feet, carry about 10-12 feet), you’re ready for the log.

Well not me obviously. Six more visits, six times it never looked likely. There’s one bigger obstacle that the log drop, and at this rate I’ll be 192 before attempting it based on this level of progression. Secondly I was talent compensated in terms of the bike. A kindly soul lent me a six inch travel full suspension sort of trail bike that a proper rider could launch off Jupiter and land smoothly in Milton Keynes.

And for most of the day it wasn’t really happening. This super sprung bike mirrored my normal chosen steed for Chicksands only in that had two wheels. It was longer and heavier which made for some quality nose first dives off the ladders. Big forks saved me but didn’t really give me much confidence nor did lending it to a mate who rode it off almost everything with consummate ease. So not the bike then. Like that was a surprise.

The run in to the drop is a fast downslope downgrading to almost flat before the log appears large in your focus and the rest of the world disappears. The phrase A leap of faith” could have been specifically coined for this drop. I’d never really tried it before “ oh I’d rolled up to the end and stared down into the abyss but at all times both hands were locked hard onto the brake levers. This time though when I took a sighter, I knew it’d have to go the next run or it’d have beaten me for the day. Maybe forever. Lots of my riding buddies, who I don’t think are beneficiaries from of my death in service insurance policies, repeatedly point out that there’s no reason I can’t ride this. Except that I’m shit scared of course “ I’m not sure they’ve taken that into account. I was twitching nervously, sweating from glands I’m sure don’t exist in any medical dictionary and breathing like Darth Vader having sex with a vacuum cleaner.

Top of the slope, clear my mind. And I mean clear, think of nothing at all, not technique, not consequences, just release the brakes and be a happy passenger cleared for take off. Half way down my brain rebelled and attempted to wrest control of the brake levers but by then it was far too late. Failing to stop at the edge is akin to falling off the edge of a waterfall. The first thing to hit the ground would be my head closely followed by an all body impact from a 40lb bike. That was even scarier than just “ as those who understand the nuances of such things riding off the fucker”

I just rode off the fucker then. It was fine, no big deal, dunno why I’d made such a huge fuss about it. Certainly the seconds of silence between take off and landing were mildly perturbing but really there was no excuse for the emotional celebrations that followed. I threw the bike away and high fived complete strangers smug in the knowledge that I was now in the log drop club” and other people weren’t. Yes, I really am that shallow. No I don’t intend to do anything about it.

Riding off it looks like this for those with cahoonies the size of village show root vegetables. I was having it somewhat more medium verging on the small.

But to own” any drop (frankly I’ve never owned a drop, but I’ve rented a few on a good day), one has to survive three times at the scaffold of fear. Only then are you admitted to the club and can cheekily ignore it for a while on future visits claiming fork issues“, inappropriate tyres” or bad fish the previous evening“. But now it wasn’t messing with my head, it was just another thing I knew I could do. Not well, not that quickly and certainly lacking in any style, unless hanging on for dear life and gurning has come back into fashion, but serially and without too much fear.

A little faster, a little more committed and little further out before falling back to earth cushioned by my borrowed big springs changed my state to log ownee”. I’ve never been so proud “ no honestly.

Nobody cares though. All my friends did it ages ago, my wife and kids don’t understand it and “ rightfully “ care even less as long as I’m back in one piece and even my ego shudders against the prospect of shouting it from the rooftops of an Internet forum.

I tell you what though, it sure beats hell out of putting up fence posts. I should know, that’s my reward for playing silly buggers yesterday.

Other Rants.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Road Riding3 Comments
There have been a few articles in the papers lately regarding Cyclists abusing the highway code, an increase in road deaths and a possible link between the two. Rather than waste my own energy rubbishing this nonsense, I’ll leave it to a couple of fellow ranters who do it rather better.
First Bez makes Nigel Havers look rather silly.
Oh, good grief. Look what happens when you mix Nigel Havers with erstwhile fanzine of middle-English bigotry, The Daily Mail. You’ve guessed it, Havers is on a roll this week clocking up as many column inches as he can, devoting each one to the usual blinkered crap about cyclists.Continuing the hypocrisy set by his earlier comments, Havers moans:

It was our greatest modern writer George Orwell who, in his 1941 essay on the English character, conjured up the evocative image of old maids cycling through the mist on their way to Communion¦

Gentility and modesty have been replaced by aggression and arrogance. Brimming with hostility, utterly indifferent to those around them, they appear to think they are above the law.

Of course, they” refers to cyclists, though anyone less retarded than Havers (a Teletubby, for instance) might note that it could equally – if not more equally, if Havers will pardon me briefly hijacking his Orwellian imagery bandwagon – refer to motorists, or indeed the public at large.

Havers is clearly having a bit of a blood pressure problem (well, it is for The Daily Mail after all – the poor readers can’t possibly read anything unless it’s bilious tripe, bless ˜em) – he continues,

Normal rules about red lights, pavements and one-way streets are treated as a matter of supreme indifference by this new army of Lycra-clad maniacs, whose every action demonstrates their contempt for pedestrians and motorists.

Let me paraphrase that: Normal rules about speed limits, mobile phones and parking restrictions are treated as a matter of supreme indifference by the incumbent army of tin-box-clad maniacs, whose every action demonstrates their contempt for pedestrians and cyclists. See how it works, Nigel? You can generalise about everyone. I’m sure you don’t abuse the speed limits and parking restrictions – although we all know about the mobile phone thing now.

When a cyclist bangs on the roof of my car or scrapes my mirror without even bothering to apologise, I sometimes wish for the good old days of Edwardian England, when young men would be sent to jail for swearing in the streets, causing a danger to the public or cycling without a light.

Oddly enough I’ve never had an experience when a cyclist bangs on the roof of my car or scrapes my mirror without even bothering to apologise.” Havers conjures up a ludicrous image of a cyclist riding through the streets, wilfully hammering away at cars for no reason; but then there’s the rub: Motorists who get their cars hit by cyclists believe these things happen for no reason, and that’s because they have either just nearly mown down someone they didn’t even see, or they simply believe that nearly mowing people down is perfectly within their rights (they – allegedly – pay more tax, goddam it, it must buy them something).

And oddly enough, rear cycle lights weren’t always compulsory (the reason being that it was the responsibilty of the faster vehicle to sufficiently illuminate its way ahead) – I can’t seem to find when this legislation was introduced, but it might make an interesting point – not that Havers will give a toss about the facts getting in the way of a good gobshite.

Havers really flails wildly in his ranting, pulling in seemingly random generalisations, assumptions, suppositions and pretty much anything he can to spit blood about anyone on two wheels.

They probably go on regular cheap flights overseas to hip new locations in eastern Europe or Africa, feeling very good about themselves as their planes emit huge clouds of noxious gases.

They do not bother to question whether their garish Lycra garments were made by children in the Third World, or, indeed, whether their bicycle was manufactured in some exploitative, low-wage factory in China.

Now come on, Nigel, let’s see your air travel schedule and compare it to mine; let’s see where all the bits of your car were made. Have you really gone and checked out the working conditions in the cycle factories in Taiwan? Of course you haven’t. Do you really buy your clothes from firms such as Howies? Of course you don’t. No-one buys all their stuff from unimpeachable sources even if there are any. But there you go, it just wouldn’t be Daily Mail to take look in the mirror (pun not intended) now and again, would it?

And after this rather splendid spleen vent, it seems an appropriate moment to let Nick let rip at the latest oh so simple solution to the Death to all cyclists campaign supported by almost everyone in London.

The Times Online today reported that cycling deaths are on the rise. Partly this is a result of more commuters taking to their bikes in London.I can’t agree with this simplistic response from Brake:

Mary Williams, Brake’s chief executive, said: It is no surprise that cyclists, one of the most vulnerable groups of road users, are dying in increasing numbers. Britain’s roads are still plagued by speeding drivers, as well as law-breaking uninsured, unlicensed, drunk and drugged drivers.”

It’s that kind of obsession with speed instead of educating car drivers about the needs of other road users that achieves nothing. Cars infringing into my local cycle lanes mostly do it at a crawl, well under 10mph. I’d put money on none of them being drugged or drunk either.

This childish thinking has led to a policy of enforcement, enforcement, enforcement” instead of enforcement, education and engineering”

We cyclists are the ones who pay the price for that shortsightedness.

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