NED PONDERS THE ETIQUETTE OF RIDING IN A GROUP...
Is there an accepted hand signal for a goose on the track?” I glanced quizzically at fellow rider Matt from Putney, puzzled by his question. “I only ask because there’s a goose on the track.”
I looked ahead, and sure enough, there on the banking, unconcerned by the onrushing peloton, was a Canada goose, sauntering along the blue line of the Herne Hill track in a heretic clockwise direction.
“Goose On The Track!” I hollered in warning, at the same time as roughly 20 other men in their forties and fifties, and half a dozen women. My right arm flailed in a loose approximation of a migratory bird recently arrived from Africa. Mercifully, and mystifyingly, the incident passed without anyone falling, not even a ruffled feather.
But it got me thinking about the orthodoxy, practice and ethics of communicating in the bunch. In particular, it gave me cause to reflect on my own occasional discomfort when faced with the demands of flapping your hands and shouting about stuff.
Certain hand signals are vital, and speak for themselves. It makes sense for example that, when turning right, one should stretch out one’s right hand. Far better to do that than nod in the general direction, or kick out a foot in a loose indication of the intended arc of travel. Likewise left, but in a mirror image. I am actively engaged in hand signalling when deviating from the given path.
There is a certain irreducible logic in pointing out a bloody great hole in the road by shouting “bloody great hole!” and pointing at the bloody great hole with an outstretched finger. This can be shown to improve riders’ chances of not falling down a hole.
After that, things start to get a bit more nuanced. The need for incessant communication becomes a little less clear cut. There is, for example, a tiresome habit among riders for pointing out stuff that maybe doesn’t, if we are brutally honest, really need pointing out. And they do this a lot.
The slightest ripple in the tarmac ahead might necessitate an indecent flurry of hand-waggling and pointing, quite disproportionate to the danger the road represents. Down the line it passes, until everyone in the group has pointed animatedly at the innocent pebble that no one has ridden over. The wrist shimmy to illustrate the possible presence of gravel and the behind-the-back hand tuck when faced with a parked car ahead, oh, how some people relish them! Who knew that a twig could provoke jazz hands?
There is also a tendency for riders to point out things that are extremely obvious, such as a massive set of red traffic lights in the road, which elicit a Pavlovian wave of humans shouting “Slowing!” and then “Stopping!” as they, well, slow and then stop. Sometimes, I accept, a sudden bit of stopping can present a problem as bikes and riders don’t enjoy smashing into each other at close quarters. But by and large stopping is okay, and doesn’t really require people to verbalise what is abundantly obvious. As I write this, for example, I am not sitting at my desk shouting “Typing!” every few minutes. (“Full stopping.”)
Perhaps it’s because I’m not very good at doing the shouty thing. For example, I’m never entirely certain whether the convention is to bellow “Car up!” when a car is ahead of the group on the road, or “Car down!”. And what if the car is behind the peloton? “Car somewhere!” As a result, I tend not to shout anything about cars, preferring to take my chances by using my eyes and ears instead of relying on Colin and Belinda shouting about cars being in my vicinity.
When turning across a junction and onto a main road, I feel horribly self-conscious yelling “Clear”, especially when there are members of the non-cycling world watching from pavements nearby, who might find the sight of a group of identically dressed MAMILs hollering about the fact that there is no danger mildly amusing.
Maybe I’m just not cut out for the group ride. Maybe I’m a miserable git. While there is a certain amount of truth in that, it’s not the whole story.
I like to think that cycling is a simple, quiet pursuit, and a conversation on a bike is a fine thing, free flowing, and gentle. There is no need to interrupt its steady flow. Unless of course there is a goose on the road, then, by all means, flap!
Who knew that a twig could provoke jazz hands?