My ride to work in That meme

That moment when you realise the traffic isn’t as bad as it should be for 8.30am and you think there may have been some kind of doomsday event that you didn’t catch on the morning news.
That moment when the council truck is parked in the driveway and you have to jump down the curb.
That moment when you smell the coffee roasting instead of the car fumes.
That moment when there are more bikes than cars at an obscure intersection near the city.
That moment when you realise it is really quite hot today.
That moment when you realise the traffic is actually very bad.
That moment when you smell the fish markets.
That moment when there are five cyclists at the front of the lights at the big intersection and you all shepherd each other between bumper to bumper cars, buses and trucks.
That moment when you get annoyed at the bike/pedestrian planning on Pyrmont Bridge.
That triumphant tour de france yellow jersey moment when you make it through the bike lights on the cycle path between sussex and kent on king.
That moment when you realise all the carparks are airconditioned.
That moment when you have to dismount and walk because of Barangaroo infrastructure development has closed the cycleway for 10 metres.
That moment while you are walking when you imagine making a short film about a temporary road closure where drivers are asked to get out and push their car to the next intersection due to similar road works.
That moment when you overtake someone on the uphill bit where people usually overtake you.
That nasty northwesterly headwind riding over the harbour bridge.
That moment when an old lady in the volvo that tut-tuts you for riding the wrong way up a really quiet one way street.
That moment when you feel a bit guilty and think “get a life old lady this really should be where the bike path is anyway” at the same time.
That moment when a young woman with a pram makes everything better by saying “nice work” when you get to the top of the steepest bit of the entire ride.
That moment when the tow-truck driver lets you in.
That moment when you can’t help but think it might be the short shorts.
That moment when you top the hill and arrive at work and think it was a great ride and realise you are quite hot and sweaty and decide to write up your entire trip in That meme.

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Bike Riding to the Airport: Alternative Carbon Offset? (Part 1)

This morning I caught a 7am flight to Perth for the ‘Shakespeare and Emotions’ conference at UWA. The abundance of interstate and international travel involved in academic pursuits is one of the more enviable aspects of the field. But such travel, as requisite for career development, is problematic if you travel to the other side of the world in order to deliver a 20-minute work-in-progress paper on culture, climate crisis and environmentalism, as I have done. That aside, when contemplating how to get to the airport from our new digs in Earlwood this morning, the idea of bike riding seemed the most logical. Train would require a bag-laden hike to Tempe and a train change at Wolli Creek and an exorbitant fare for very short ride. And a Taxi would require booking and money and the stress of traffic. But my bike was just sitting on the balcony, leaning sweetly against the wall, as if patiently waiting for me to ask it to take me to the airport. The only other time I have ridden near the airport was on the all-night summer solstice ride in 2009 when we went up and around all the empty airport roads at about 3.30am. But we can see the runway from our house on the hill and virtually ride across the runway on our way to UNSW. Surely one of the perks of living within spitting distance of the airport is that you can ride right to the departure gate, right? The pundits on the Sydney Cyclist website were undecided. But I found one strikingly affirmative review, which was enough to cancel out all of the negative ones.

Long Term Parking at the Domestic Terminal

The ride from my place takes in a short stretch of the Cooks River then Coward St, Bourke Rd and O’Riordan St. Bike lanes service the route until Coward Street, but then you are on your own with the monster trucks (unless you are lucky like me and have a red-headed fiancé-sized cycle-buddy!). 6am is peak time at the airport; cars, trucks and taxies were backed up several sets of lights leading to the domestic terminal. While it is fun riding between cars that are stopped in traffic, the airport lacks proper cycling access. Designers and engineers of infrastructure around the airport must think exclusively in terms of either high-carbon emissions, or high-power travel, or both. In the formidable presence of 747s and A380s it is perhaps unsurprising that the lowly muscle-powered bicycle is marginalised: the discrepancy between the power of an jumbo jet and the power of a pushie is so great that bikes seem entirely obsolete. Why ride a bike at 15km/ph when you can fly at almost 100 times that speed? Further, if you are interested in travelling at such high speed, why would you even be remotely interested in travelling so slowly?

Well if you live close enough, you buy yourself an extra snooze or two because the one big perk about bike riding is that travel times are reliable. Where as train travel needs to be shaped around time tables and cars get stuck in traffic, bikes just get to where they are going on time. Furthermore, you save at least $30 on train fares and between $40 and $200 on taxi fares, depending on where you live and at least $300 on parking if you’re crazy enough to drive. You also get a bit of exercise before the muscle-atrophying experience of air travel. So I popped my rucksack in a basket on the back of my bike and rode on over. It was really very fun. And, although I like having proper infrastructure to support a safe ride such as bike lanes or a shoulder, there is something still quite fun and intrepid in being the only bike or two on a clogged arterial road.

One other thing I wondered whether or not biking to the airport can be seen to be the equivalent of a carbon offset. Carbon offsetting is bollocks and I didn’t pay the $2.21 to ‘carbon offset’ my flight. I reckon I am right to be suspicious of both the politics and mathematical formulae involved in such hair-brained tree-planting schemes that often commercialise large swathes of land, make trees commodities and criminalise the people who try to use them to survive. But  I wonder if biking to the airport could also be seen as an equivalent form of carbon offset? Surely riding to the airport is better than paying a conglomerate to pay police to incarcerate people who try and build a roof from a branch of a tree that has been ‘sold’ to offset my flight to Perth, right? Also, although no trees were planted in honour of my trip to Perth, ‘No Iraqi’s died to fuel my bicycle’ either. That slogan used to be screen printed on a patch on my backpack and, as we overtook a semi-trailer that was caught in traffic, it was what I yelled to my red-headed fiancé-sized cycle-buddy this morning. I dunno how eco-friendly or radically political I was this morning really. Actually, I think that the joy I got from riding between cars stuck on a choked artery road was much greater than any benefit to the environment or to Iraqis who died during the most recent US invasion. Nevertheless, I rode my bike to the airport, parked it near the entrance and now I am in Perth.

This is only part one of this story. Whether or not the bike is still at the airport when I return on the weekend remains to be seen. I shall report back. But, for now, greetings from the most isolated city on the planet.

 


Monday Morning: A Closet Drama

Dramatis Personae:

  • Middle aged man, driving a bronze SUV, in sunglasses, windows up.
  • Cyclist

Cyclist wends her way down Wilson Street, Darlington. She’s thinking about the craziness of her life at the moment. Past. Present. Future. Thoughts can be represented with interpretive dance. Although it is 8am the traffic is light and she’s making good time. The sun in shining. The birds are singing. Life’s good. She’s wearing a bright red coat and a bright green helmet. She has second thoughts about her outfit: she thinks she probably looks like a Christmas tree. She comes to a roundabout and sees an SUV coming up the street to her left. She thinks unconsciously ‘no worries’; she’s got right of way two times over because he’s on her left and he’s not even at the roundabout yet. She enters the roundabout. She realises that the SUV is not stopping.

Cyclist: (loudly) Whoa, Whoa, Whoa.

She slows down so the impact is not dramatic. He hits her. Luckily he’d slowed to turn the corner too. Her bike scratches the front of his car, but she comes off the bike but does not fall over. There’s a short standoff. Cyclist looks directly at the driver desiring acknowledgement of his wrong and an apology. The driver gestures impatiently for the cyclist to move on.  

Cyclist: (Loudly, gesticulating wildly) Aren’t you even going to apologise for almost running me over?

The driver, unresponsive, reverses a little in order to get around the cyclist and speeds off down the street. Cyclist looks around for recognition of this injustice, and the impertinence and gall of the man in the unnecessarily large car. Nobody is around. Cyclist rides off thinking how glad she was to not be hurt, how much she wanted to kick the car, but also glad that she is that she had restraint, because by not kicking the car she retains the moral high ground. The second wave of thoughts can also be represented with interpretive dance, but ideally dancers would have a costume change to signal that the mood of the thoughts had darkened somewhat since the incident.

THE END.

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Playwright’s statement: This is a follow up to Wednesday Morning, a representation of the possible harmony between Cyclists and Pedestrians in future. This drama perhaps represents the particularly toxic dimension of the current relationship between Cyclists and Drivers in Sydney from the Cyclist’s perspective.