Ride-to-Work day was amusing in some small way. In the morning could I tell it was RTW day? Not really, North road was bumper-to-bumper stationary cars, in twenty minutes I saw one other cyclist, the traffic choked to a halt as the road gets widened to accommodate more cars, with a special bicycle ghetto being built in the median strip that you a) can’t get to, then b) have to give way at every single cross road at then c) use the footpath past the primary school. Cyclists dismount please!
In the evening could I tell it was RTW day? Riding up a one-way lane I come to a halt as the P-plate bearing Commodore screeches around the corner and comes straight at me. Me: “Mate it’s a one way street,” him: “Get fucked, I live here,” me: “I guess if you live here you know its a one way street.” I then had to dive off to the side as he drove straight at me screaming abuse about “faggots bicycles poofters f’en cyclist c\*nts.”
All this followed ten minutes later by a different knob-end throwing the door open and heaving his wobbly belly out of the car and nearly collecting me with the wine bottle he was waving as a counter-balance.
RTW day. Oh yeah. Maybe in the CBD, but out here in ‘burbs the petrol-heads go on for ever.
