A Letter to Dublin Cyclists

rentabike

Dear Dublin cyclists,

I’ve been here a few months now, and I think I’ve gotten to grips with the niceties of inner urban cycling.

At first, your city scared the living bejesus out of me. Navigating the quays in the morning, trying to cross three lanes of traffic, hoping for a red light so that the goddamn cars would stop moving for sixty seconds: each day was what they politely call a ‘new adventure’.

Now, I’m blasé about the whole thing. I stick my hand out, check behind me, and pop gracefully between lanes before filtering through to the junction.

And when I get to that junction, I stop.

That’s right: the red light means stop. Means it for cars, means it for cyclists.

It bugs me when I see cyclists gleefully running reds because they don’t see a car coming at that particular moment.

It bugs me because they cheerfully reinforce the image of cyclists as gobshites. Gobshites who ignore any inconvenient rules of the road while simultaneously trumpeting their right to use that road.

It bugs me especially because I’ve been the other cyclist who, while crossing a junction with a green light, nearly gets creamed by some absolute spanner who’s run his red.

So please. If you’re a cyclist, or even a POB* (or whatever the proper cyclists call those of us who don’t wear spandex), stop running reds.

And while I’m at it, if you just like to amble peacefully along the road — no rush, like — stop pushing your way right to the front of the bike queue at the lights. You’re holding up everyone behind you who cycles at more than 4km/h.

</rant>

* ‘Person on bike’ apparently. That is, not a real cyclist.

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