The Chronicle

IN THE GUTTER

WHEN YOU RETURN TO CYCLING AT A RIPE OLD AGE OF COURSE YOU’RE GOING TO AVOID THE BIKE PATHS

- ON A LIGHTER NOTE WO R DS : G R EG B R AY Greg Bray blogs at gregbraywr­iter.wordpress.com. Find him on Facebook: Greg Bray – Writer

Folks, I started riding a bicycle to work and back each day and, no, I haven’t lost my licence, a bet, or my mind. It’s not so bad, even if I have to get up a little earlier and am developing callouses on parts of my body that I can’t expose in polite company.

Plus, because it’s an electric-assist pushie, this 51-year- old, born-again cyclist isn’t arriving at work wheezing, with aching knees and lathered in sweat – most days.

Still, the one thing I don’t like, apart from vicious magpies, rain, strong headwinds, humidity, rock-flicking trucks, roaming dogs, car doors suddenly flinging open, yobbos hurling abuse (or rubbish) at me… actually, what was the point I was trying to make?

That’s right, the one thing I really don’t like is pedalling on busy roads. I ride in the gutter.

Even if there’s a designated bike lane I’ll ride in the gutter.

Basically, I’m not going to think that just because someone has painted a designated green lane with a white stencilled bicycle on it that I’m entitled to be on the road.

That green bike path is actually an express lane to becoming a chalk outline on the bitumen yourself.

Note: I also don’t wear a fluoro vest while cycling for the same reason that clever ducks don’t wear target t-shirts during hunting season.

I did try riding on footpaths to avoid aggro traffic, but they were full of uppity pedestrian­s yelling at me to get back on the road. Then I cycled through a large gap between some mutt and its owner only to discover they were connected by a near invisible, retractabl­e lead. The following few minutes were fairly… exhilarati­ng.

So it’s back to the gutter shuttle for me, dodging parked cars, drain grates, broken glass and litter.

I’ll admit it’s probably a bit silly to return to cycling at my age but as someone who is tighter than a rusty bike lock, watching fuel prices race up faster than my heart rate on a steep hill, I’m definitely not crazy.

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