Wheel dropkicks 30/8/2006
I’m a keen cyclist and try to get at least 100km a week under the saddle. But as far as I’m concerned those lycra-clad, shaven-legged poseurs aboard $5000 machines who insist the road is theirs and theirs alone do nothing but damage the noble pursuit of pedal pushing. Like the dickheads who participate in Melbourne’s Hell Rides in which riders hijack a public road for unapproved races in which traffic regulations are ignored. An elderly pedestrian died at the weekend when hit by one of these cowboys.
DOZENS of speeding cyclists failed to help a dying man knocked down by a rider during a dangerous bayside race.
Witnesses said up to 50 cyclists continued their 60km/h charge in the so-called Hell Ride after the elderly man was struck.
Cyclist Justin Heitman told the Herald Sun yesterday how he cradled 77-year-old James Gould as he lay on Beach Rd.
Justifiably, outrage has greeted the prospect that the responsible cyclist may incur only a $300 fine for ignoring a red light. Do that in a car and you’re up for culpable driving and a generous spell in the slot.
Douglas, at Mangled Thoughts, rants righteously about this tragedy.
Similarly, outrage erupts whenever a mob of arseholes who call themselves Critical Mass use bikes to regularly disrupt peak-hour traffic in Melbourne. Yet the pathetic Victorian plods let them get away with it. Presumably because many of the pseudo anarchists are from the inner burbs and full of socialist moral superiority about non-polluting conveyances and advancement of public transport. Which makes them fellow-travellers of the fat slag and comrades at plod headquarters.
What amuses me most about “look at me” bike riders is that most qualify emphatically for the old adage of “strong in the legs, weak in the head”. A couple of years back I endured the most unpleasant experience of the Great Victorian Bike Ride. Imagine seven days on the road with 8000 riders, queuing for hours daily for tasteless food, stinking portaloos and cold showers. Jeez, I went to Sunbury in the 70s and have had my ration of discomfort amid masses of smelly stupidoes.
Anyway, one image from the ride is embedded: This conceited goose in lycra and aboard a graphite frame pedalling up and down a steep hill three times to show the puffing plodders just how good he was.
Later my pal and I came across him trying to impress a couple of women with a lecture on the importance of diet and preparation for biking performance.
The silly prick was still wearing his Tour De France lycra shirt he’d had on earlier when performing his tricks. The stinking garment was emblazoned with the Gauloise brand, quite possibly the most unhealthy product ever produced for human consumption. Dumb prick hadn’t a clue.
Anyway, time for a ride. Better get out the old baggy T-shirt, boardshorts and sandshoes.