Riots and an argument with a white van man
A near-miss with a reckless driver sparks some reflections on hidden aggression and societal unrest.
I acquired a cargo bike recently for transporting my children. I don’t specifically think of them as baggage, to be clear, but it helps with managing expectations.
I was riding on this—large, heavy—bike to collect the five-year-old from summer holiday club earlier this week. The road was narrow and bent around a corner, and I could already feel the tell-tale hum of a vehicle behind me, unable to pass and stalking my rear wheel.
As soon as it became physically possible, the driver accelerated and narrowly passed me on the stretch of road pictured below, just as another cyclist came in the opposite direction. My biking brother looked surprised at the sight of a large van speeding towards him, and I raised my arm in the air in the universal language of “what the fuck, mate?” as the van squeezed past both of us.
30 seconds later I caught up with the van driver at the traffic lights, because of course I did – these kind of impatient overtakes almost never work out in favour of the driver. He had his window open and said “What was that all about?” when I pulled up alongside him.
The man was old enough to be my dad and I was momentarily nonplussed at the thought that it was him. “You were really close to me and that other cyclist – you could’ve just waited five seconds”, I told him. Normally, drivers just tell me to fuck off at this point and wheelspin away from the confrontation. This guy stayed there, though, with a weirdly lazy lilt to his voice as he just said “no, no, just get off the road”.
"You’re supposed to give cyclists a two metre gap”, I reminded him. “That’s two metres too many”, he breezed, almost to himself.
“What? Share the road, mate, don’t be such a cliche”. I told him. He kept just mockingly repeating “yeah, yeah” at me as I added “you should be embarrassed – grow up mate”. He drove off, and I carried on with my trip.
I’ve been cycling on roads long enough to be unsurprised by basically any driver who thinks nothing of trying to maim you with their vehicle or demand that you acquiesce to their (nonexistent) right of way. Something about this guy threw me, though: the cognitive dissonance of having to critique the behaviour of someone who was probably in their late 60s? The sly way he repeated “two metres too many”, with all its aggressive implications. Who was this guy?
A celebration of idiocy
This was the same feeling I experienced during the rioting that’s been happening here the past few weeks. After the horrific murder of multiple children at a dance class, the far right have been out in their droves, “protesting” by setting fire to hotels hosting migrants and refugees. The images on the news of shirtless men of all generations throwing bottles and bricks at windows and police officers have haunted me, not to mention the country. Who were these men, too?
A darker part of my brain ponders sometimes just how many aggressive, hateful thoughts are harboured by a majority of the population, who mostly manage to cover them up in everyday life. A skim read of the comment section on any tabloid news website will quickly boost this suspicion that many people genuinely do hate their fellow humans and are quite happy to advocate for violence and suppression, as long as nobody holds them to account for their opinions or makes them say it out loud.
The man in the van probably wasn’t some hateful, cyclist-killing fantasist, of course. But he felt empowered in our brief interaction to quietly share his desire that I wasn’t there, that me and my kind shouldn’t even be on the road in the first place.
Let’s be clear: I’m not comparing the “struggle” of middle-class cyclists riding their bikes through middle-class suburbs with the plight of refugees in Britain. But I’m saying that I’m staggered by how many normal-seeming men harbour these kind of extreme views which are just waiting to come out – or so it seems.
I read a fantastic piece on this yesterday by “My Black Face”, a blogger who covered these riots with wit and clarity here:
Until we can grow up and have proper discussions, with each other, with our kids, with our friends and families, about all of this, about how online manipulation works, about how misinformation spreads, about bias in the news and about the reporting of hate marches vs. protests, vs. riots, about how to stop and pause and think for a second and about racism in this country – until we can pat Nigel Farage on the head, say, “yes dear, very good, now play with your lego and let the grown-ups talk” – until we can do all of that…
we’re absolutely fucked.
This is it: we need to challenge these men, even (especially) when it’s uncomfortable, and talk about harmful news “sources” and misinformation and how it’s weaponised. The bloke in the van probably just wanted to get home from work and was fed up dawdling at 15mph behind me. I don’t imagine he’s done much soul-searching since our interaction. But I have.
Mini-feels this week
As promised: shed update
I hinted at this last week: for fans of sheds/man caves, here’s the latest news: I got a new door!
When I had the shed upgraded to a new home office/studio, I skimped out on the door, figuring I could make do with the creaky wooden one that was already there.
Alas, this door didn’t even close properly, so this week I had a shiny new UPVC one fitted:
Look at the beautiful finish of the shed now! No more creaking, sound polluting, hard-to-unlock door. And all it cost me was just over £1000. A bargain.