Buffalo & Doozerie - The mild musings of two grumpy old men!

Last week: muppet on a bicycle cycles through a red across a crossroads on Dorset Street. Presumably he thinks it's safe. The sounds of a car horn follows, and a driver braking hard. Muppet survives unscathed. Light changes, I continue on, overtake the muppet, turn down Gardiner Street, stop at the corner of Mountjoy Square. Muppet appears behind me, I presume he's learnt some degree of lesson, but no. Through the red light, right turn and cycles down the wrong side of Gardiner Place.

Today, cycling out to Dundrum. Woman overtakes me on Milltown Road, tagging on to the back of a line of traffic, and pulls in even though she's not quite past me. She's a couple of inches away from getting a slap on her side, but I'm not going at any speed and can react quite calmly. I get a look inside as she's stuck in traffic anyway, and she's enjoying a super split. Her desire for ice cream is stronger than her desire to operate her car safely... how does this person have a licence?

This evening, most serious one. North on Gardiner St (http://goo.gl/maps/Obk5N), bus lane is full of parked cars, so I'm pedalling along on the while line more or less, avoiding the door zone. Car pulls past not giving an inch of space. I let out an involuntary yell, and make the gesture for "move over" as he drives away. He returns the finger. I hold up a "what the hell" hand, and I think he waved.

Next red light, well look who it is. Peer in the passenger window, ask politely if he'd give some more space next time. He's looking at me, and his lips are moving, but the window remains closed and I can't hear anything. Then he starts raising his fist. I point to my ear to indicate I can't hear him, but he just keeps muttering while shaking his fist. I think it was "something something the mouth". Maybe he wants to kiss me on the mouth? I move away, note the reg. Why are some people allowed out of their cages at all?

Also! Was having a great commuter race with a member of DFB club last week, until he went through a red. boo-urns.

I like Spotify, I sometimes listen to it via headphones while in work. But not all music stands up well to the kind of close listening that headphones allow. And while sitting in front of a computer screen I find myself casually listening more closely to lyrics than I would if I were doing something else - by complete contrast for example I can barely recall which tracks I heard while on the turbo trainer last night, let alone the lyrics.

So here I am listening to a hip-hop playlist. I like hip-hop, usually. But the lyrics of several of these particular tracks are screwed up to say the least. You want to do what to who? Oh, to "your bitch", well that's charming, do you call her that to her face or do you just save that expression for your childish posturing when secluded in a studio? And as for what you propose to do her, whatever about whether it's even legal, yer ma will ground you just for the shockingly poor spelling of your track's title, what do you think she'll do if she learns of the nasty notions rattling around in that head of yours. And why would you think anyone would want to hear your seedy fantasies anyway? And your music is crap too. Oh yes. Fo fcukin real mofo, like!

At least there are some decent tracks, with lyrics not written by a hormone-filled teenager or an insecure and angry adult, mixed in with the bile. So on balance the playlist is reasonably good but the whole experience is soured somewhat though by the need to intersperse it with some banal rubbish (e.g. Jason Donovan, circa 1980's, chirpy chirpy happy happy drivel) to rinse away the lingering lyrics and imagery from the occasional downright nasty track.

…and not one mention of cycling in any of the tracks. Tut. Does no-one cycle in "the 'hood" anymore? Pity, having to untangle your ridiculously baggy and now mangled jeans from your mofo'ing chainset could serve as a useful and reasonably safe outlet for your barely suppressed rage, homey.

@daragh_, My trauma is now complete. I may have to don some robust gloves and dig out some Notorious B.I.G. to expunge your sample of hippy-happy-hop from my mind. That's the depth to which you've had me sink

doozerie wrote: »

At least there are some decent tracks, with lyrics not written by a hormone-filled teenager or an insecure and angry adult

If you're excluding teenagers, insecure people and angry people, what are you listening to? The Carpenters?

There's a Venn diagram in here somewhere.

Lumen wrote: »

The Carpenters?

Insecure fail. Try again.

manwithaplan wrote: »

Insecure fail. Try again.

Anything from Bono?

Lumen wrote:

If you're excluding teenagers, insecure people and angry people, what are you listening to? The Carpenters?

That Lupe Fiasco seems a nice young man, it's terrible that The Man seems determined not to let him explore a healthy and outdoor life choice by riding his skateboard.

And that Macklemore fella, he's got a keen head on his shoulders, looking for bargains in a thrift shop and he's not afraid to wear his granpappy's hand-me-downs, which meets parental approval. He could tone down the language a bit, but clearly he feels strongly about the subject, bless him, let's not hold that against him.

The Carpenters were all well and good, like, but I just can't picture them in second hand clothes and executing grinds (no, not that kind, this is The Carpenters after all) on the hand rails of public buildings. Their street cred is a little lacking, frankly.

Did a ramp test in Trinity this afternoon. Was overtaken by three commuters on my ride home. #knackered

Another day, another entertaining commute. While stopped at pedestrian traffic lights on Clanbrassil Street a number of cyclists went past me. Nothing new there, that's a daily occurrence but as I caught up with them I noticed that one guy kitted out in cycling kit was riding a TT bike and a commuter TT bike is an unusual sight. He was ambling along so I went past him. A hundred metres further on and I was conscious of someone changing gear behind me, and Mr TT went past. He instantly dropped down to his bar extensions, this guy clearly took his commuter racing seriously. I sped up a little but it wasn't long before I hit my maximum comfortable cadence on my single speed and Mr TT pulled away. He was clearly winning but he squandered his victory by running a red light. He was already on a caution for having hairy legs on a TT bike, so running the red light meant instant disqualification.

I stopped at the red Mr TT had ignored and was immediately passed by half a dozen cyclists who didn't even pause, they seemed to even accelerate as they just went straight through. It's the head of a T junction, with cars coming from the right on green to merge with our main road. I was impressed by these cyclists' apparently certain knowledge of the determination (and ability) of the car drivers to keep out of the cycle lane they were merging to the right of. Such faith is kind of heartwarming in its own way I guess, though clearly utterly deluded. There were no casualties though, which is probably seen as a vindication of their actions by the RLJ'ers.

I caught up with the cyclists before they were half-way up the short drag ahead - RLJ'ers really would get to their destinations a lot sooner simply by pedalling faster between the lights rather then speeding up to go through a red and then idling as far as the next red light. With the meandering line of cyclists in the cycle lane and the queueing line of cars to the right there was no room to get past, so I had to crawl along behind the RLJ'er right in front me. And as dictated by the law of Sod, the fecker had low hanging hanging jeans which had clearly lost the battle for supremacy against his underpants, so there were his jocks on full display. His T-shirt thought it best to ride up his back too, in support of the horrible spectacle. This created a dilemma, I couldn't put my eyes through the trauma of lingering on his jocks, but the only other thing in my line of sight was his hairy back with the hair matted in sweat. I feel queasy at the memory.

At the next set of lights (busy crossroads at Christchurch) the RLJ'ers moved en masse to the head of affairs again, stopping beyond or on the pedestrian crossing with some blatantly nudging into the junction. A moped rider pulled up alongside them and hopped off his moped. He stood there beside it, holding the handlebars, and waiting. Was he reliving his motorbike racing days of decades ago, where you have to start beside the bike and throw yourself on when given a green light? Was his moped tired and he was giving it a rest? Was his moped angry and threatening to throw him off and he'd hopped off to calm it down? Was his engine so knackered this it wouldn't be able to carry him from stationary up the faintest of inclines? I don't know but thinking about the various possibilities kept me amused for a while so I applaud his odd antics. On the green light he hopped on side-saddle style and rolled down the hill.

At Eden Quay everyone engaged in the usual squabble for "superior position" after the traffic lights, not helped by the narrowing of the road there over the last while as work is done on the river side. The lack of road/lane markings for the first stretch don't help either. One car in the line of moving traffic could have been construed as spanning the two traffic lanes as the road thought about widening. As far as the driver behind it was concerned there was *obviously* a delineation between the two non-lanes and anyone unaware of that was destined for the fires of hell. She slammed on the horn while simultaneously trying to create a gap that wasn't there to shove past to the right of the other car. The driver of the front car put his hand out the window and stuck his finger up, maintaining his road position. The road widened a little, the woman in the car behind accelerated and went past yer man. Yer man then pulled over into the same lane, and ended up just behind her in the line of stopped traffic a few metres ahead. Awkward.

Weather was lovely though, it's not a day to be stuck in a stuffy office with rubbish air conditioning, and certainly not when there is so much free entertainment available out on the roads.

(This is a long post, even by my standards, and it includes a more than usual amount of navel gazing. If you'd rather not wade through it, here is the summary: bullies are an embarrassment to themselves, but so am I at times. I'll try harder, they probably won't. Oh, and bees are made of HTFU!)

I dislike bullies. A lot. As a young, small, and shy kid I seemed to attract the stereotypical ogre type that liked to throw their weight around by picking on those physically smaller or more introverted than them. Bullying is a tough thing for any kid to contend with and in my case that wasn't helped by parents who, probably due to having no understanding of how to help, advocated the christian approach of just turning the other cheek. I can see some merit in that approach as an adult in certain situations, but as a kid it seemed like being told to stick your head in the sand and hope the problem goes away, which it didn't. So I'd get frustrated, and angry, and I discovered I had a significant temper which encouraged most bullies to hold back from carrying out their threats. My temper and I grew to be close friends as I grew up, in my underdeveloped view of the world I thought it gave me the courage to stand up for myself. I never had a stomach for violence, I still don't, so instead I stood up for myself mostly by means of developing a sharp tongue at an early age 'cos words seem to confuse bullies.

As you get older you continue to encounter bullies in the adult world. The word "bully" isn't always the most obvious choice to describe the aggressive or devious antics of an adult towards others, but it is perhaps as good a word as any. I guess that someone who measures their own self-worth by their ability to intimidate others as a kid might not see any appeal in adopting a different approach to the world over time as long as their intimidation still works for them - such people never really grow up, they just grow older. But part of me has never really grown up either, the temper that lurks in the background is still that of a little kid and it doesn't sit comfortably in the adult world. And despite my best efforts my inner kid and I don't always handle difficult situations well, particularly when there is some degree of intimidation or aggression involved.

That sets the scene for my commute on Friday last. On a big but almost entirely empty roundabout a motorist drove onto the roundabout on a collision course with me while I was on it. One swerve, and a gesture of "what the fcuk?" later, I was off the roundabout and into the business park I was going to that day. The motorist had responded to my gesture with a disinterested look so when I realised he was behind me I looked back and shook my head. He pulled alongside to tell me that I was in the wrong. Not content with being merely an ignorant and dismissive git he decided to throw in the patronising remark that my helmet should be on my head, not my handlebars (it was a hot day, I opted to strap it to the handlebars rather than wear it) before driving off. My inner kid had heard enough and yelled "wanker!" after him, he slammed on his brakes, and as I rode past I reached for my water bottle and sprayed his windscreen. It was utterly petty and childish, it was not my proudest moment.

He drove after me and we ended up stopped at the side of the road, him out of his car and leaning forward his face only inches from mine. He was a big guy, my inner kid noted the inevitability of that to me as he ran off to hide in some dark recess of my brain, leaving adult me to deal with the fallout. The motorist seemed to be trying hard to convey an image of calm and patience, but his body language was working hard at trying to intimidate, my guess was that he was barely suppressing his own anger. My mind was drawn back to memories of aggressive teachers, or the parish priest, of my youth. He tried to lecture me on why, basically, he could drive as he likes, but he got fed up of my awkward questions about why he felt entitled to ignore other people on the road. He reverted to what he was probably like as a kid, calling me "a little boy" over and over to drown out what I was saying. There was some uncomfortable truth in what he was saying of course, at least part of my reaction had been exactly that of a child, but even my inner kid got a chuckle out of this self-proclaimed picture of maturity trying his best to belittle me by childishly calling me names.

Overall though we both came away from that incident looking stupid and childish. The reality of that was hammered home even further when I realised that he was going to the very same place as me. My job that day involved meeting someone there that I'd never dealt with before, and it was looking quite possible that he was that person. My inner kid, not always fully grasping the concept of "moral support", prepared a bowl of popcorn to watch how this played out. The motorist and I passed each other in silence in the building reception area and I was relieved to see someone else sitting there waiting for me. Phew! My inner kid muttered a "Feck sake! Boring!", flung his popcorn on the floor and slammed a door somewhere as he sulked off to lurk at the back of my mind again.

Roll on Saturday morning and the latest club league race. I'm a mediocre racer at best, one of the reasons why I restrict myself to club league races. I do them to challenge myself, and because they are fun. And this one started out fun like all of the others. Until a big guy decided to slot himself between me and the rider immediately in front of me. He was clearly moving into that position whether I liked it or not so I eased up a little to leave a gap for him to fill. He didn't bother waiting for the gap though and nearly took my front wheel clean out by swinging across as we overlapped. Mistakes happen in races so I limited my expression of frustration to no more than an "Ah come on!" and as I did so someone else from the same club as big guy shoved in front of me. Charming. I made a mental note to keep well away from the two of them for the rest of the race, they were not safe, and I applied myself back to suffering again. Some time later, as I and the entire bunch pulled over a little to overtake a slowing rider on the inside, I felt a nudge on my right arm and there was big guy again telling me to shove over. I had to brake to avoid colliding with the rider going backwards, after which I pulled up alongside big guy to ask why he'd pushed me over. He called me a "fcuking yo-yo". Lovely. I told him he'd nearly caused me to crash earlier by almost taking out my front wheel. "Good!", he said. That told me everything that I needed to know about this guy, he wasn't in this race for fun, he had no respect or concern for those around him, just like the motorist the previous day this guy clearly saw everyone around him as a hindrance to be pushed aside.

I tried to keep clear of big guy but somehow we ended up side by side on several more occasions. He clearly felt that he wasn't getting the respect he felt he deserved as he seemed keen to convey to me his awesomeness. He was God's Gift To Irish Cycling, it seems. He told me how many races he had won. It was an impressive number, and I told him so, but I also told him that it didn't excuse his actions in this race and that I'd judge him by those actions. He didn't like that, he responded with phrases such as "fcukin yo-yo" and "young fella". It was quite novel being called a young fella, I haven't had that in a while, but even while I found that amusing my inner kid decided this was the time for an appropriate verbal response. It was quite an understated response, no yelling or spraying of water this time, I just told God's Gift that if I seemed like a yo-yo it was because I was going to the front at times to put some work in and then dropping back and he saw all this from the relative comfort of his position well back from the front. I added that he should try a stint at the front, it would be no problem for a strapping lad like him whereas it was awful hard work for me. That touched a nerve apparently because he leaned in and forced me over the solid white line to the other side of the road. I've no idea whether he was aware of the presence, or not, of traffic coming the other way, I'm not sure he'd have cared either way, but thankfully there was none. He left no room for me to get back across so I took advantage of the space that someone left behind him, and moved across to the inside again. I got an earful from a club mate of God's Gift, I was sure that I hadn't cut across anyone when I moved but in the heat of the moment I might have misjudged. At this stage though I was forming the impression that some solidarity was being expressed with God's Gift so instead of apologising I told him to take it up with God's Gift himself and I rode up the bunch.

There was some irony in God's Gift suffering alongside the likes of me, there was a breakaway up the road and we were not catching them, it was surely time for God's Gift to unveil his awesomeness and tear off up the road, but no, instead he seemed to be occupying some of his time with seemingly moaning about me to those around him while I was within earshot, and pulling up alongside me to make a reference to "little girl" at another point. He seemed in full hissy fit mode, for my part this race was no longer fun and I was finding myself having to avoid ending up in the ditch as some club mates of his pushed in on top of me at times. Under different circumstances I'd put those relatively minor incidents down to people making mistakes as they tired, I certainly knew that I was tiring and so were many in that bunch, and it seems paranoid to believe that any of those incidents were deliberate (I've raced against people from that club before, and this behaviour was not at all representative in my experience) but the whole thing was just leaving a bad taste in my mouth by now and I was considering just pulling out and be done with it. My head was gone. But puling out would have felt like letting God's Gift's bullying get the better of me so I gritted my teeth, tried to tune out that part of me that got a little nervous each time I saw one of this club jerseys beside me, and I ploughed on. The goal that kept me going was to finish ahead of God's Gift, it would change nothing, but it would give me a little satisfaction. I passed him on the final turn but I didn't contest the sprint, partly because I was tired and there were no placings to fight for, partly because my heart simply wasn't in it by then, God's Gift had very effectively seen to that. I've no idea whether he went past me at the end, it really doesn't matter to me either though I suspect it does to him.

I debated whether I'd report him at the end. I have strong feelings over whether anyone should feel entitled to aggressively throw their weight around and turn a fun activity of racing into something unnecessarily dangerous, but at the same time I feel that those who organise the club league have their hands full already and this would just be one more hassle for them to have to contend with. I did report him though, and it turns out that I'm not the first to have done so, he seems to have quite a reputation and not just within the club league. I may never win a single race, evidence to date suggests that I won't, but I'd prefer that outcome to one where I callously put others in danger in pursuit of a win (or in pursuit of simply finishing in the chasing bunch as in this case). Even my inner kid can live with the prospect of being a complete nobody when it comes to racing, clearly his inner child can't. My inner kid thinks his inner kid smells.

On a lighter note (though not for all parties concernced), on Tuesday evening I went for a ride on my own. I felt something tickling my head, inside my helmet. I poked a finger in through a vent to scratch my head but couldn't quite reach. I thought it brushed against something so I glanced at the tip of my finger and saw something that looked like pollen. What could that be, | wondered, what looks like pollen? (I was tired, okay). A flurry of images passed through my mind, those involving bees becoming more prominent as I felt a tingle on my scalp. Ah yes, pollen looks a lot like pollen, and bees cary pollen. I pulled over to the side of the road and rushed to get my helmet off as the tingling sensation changed to one of someone trying to hammer a nail into my head. As the pain spread towards the back of my skull I found an angry bumble bee hiding in my helmet vent. It brandished its arse at me as I tried to carefully dislodge it. My head was sore but at least I'd live, its fate was more grim. I eventually managed to remove it and rest it on a wall. None of my first aid training had prepared me for this, there was nothing I could do to help it. No doubt the bee felt that I was the aggressive bully in that situation by poking at it while it rested in my helmet, and in fairness to it it had made me pay a price for that even if it ultimately lost. Even having been the victorious bully in that situation I really can't see the appeal of it as an attitude. Bullying sucks, down with that kind of thing.

This morning, going up Nicholas Street, I was in the cycle track at the left-most side of the road with a line of stopped cars to my right. A left-only lane splits off near the top, there is a yellow box at the split. You expect traffic to indicate in advance, observe the rules of the yellow box, and be observant. …ha, of course not, you expect everyone and their mother to drive or cycle right over you and everybody else in their rush to switch lanes, so you keep an eye on everything and trust no-one.

That deep-rooted distrust of every other road user has kept me safe at that horrible stretch of road many times in the past. But as ever when you are sharing space with others you can only do so much, you are still dependent on others to do at least some of their part too. So once past the yellow box this morning I assumed that the taxi immediately to my right which started to drift into the cycle lane was doing so simply because simultaneously flexing his ankles and operating a steering wheel was a daily insurmountable challenge for the driver. I was right beside his front passenger door, I was far from invisible.

All of a sudden his car swerved into the cycle lane and in on top of me while I was beside the front wing of his car. I swerved left to avoid it and I yelled. I have a loud yell, surely the odds of him being deaf as well as blind were slim? His car swung to the right again and back into the straight-ahead lane, his left indicator went on, and his car instantly swung left on top of me again. I swung left again, yelled, and accelerated to get past him. He pulled across into the left-only lane, window down, and yelled something at me. I had headphones in, I didn't hear what he said, which is probably a good thing as my blood was well and truly up and chasing after him to ask him to elaborate was looking appealing and if I'd heard what he said it might have tipped the scales in that direction. Even without the headphones I'd not have heard him anyway though as I drowned out his voice by yelling my assessment of his IQ and driving abilities at him. Various nearby pedestrians swung their heads in our direction. I imagine they saw a scene of an angry cyclist berating some innocent motorist, targeting a hassled taxi driver no less, his aggressive and dangerous driving and his aggressive response to my reaction to it were probably oblivious to them. *sigh*

It got me wondering though, yet again, about the perspective of such a person. He basically saw me as being in his way, and rather than wait for me to get past before he changed lanes he decided that the most appropriate course of action was to literally shove me out of his way. The rules of the road had absolutely no relevance to him, he jumped straight past such inconveniences to the "let's see whether the motorist or the cyclist stands up best to a game of push and shove" approach. What does such a person really believe will be the outcome of that? Do they watch too much television, where people can be seemingly pummelled by fits/weapons/cars/etc. and just bounce right back with no more then a bloody lip and a jaunty quip, and believe it's actually realistic? Are they simply stupid? Are they just sociopaths?

The reality of the situation doesn't seem to invade their closed little minds at all. The reality is almost certainly very painful, very tedious, potentially very expensive, and very very drawn out. The highly likely real outcome this morning was that I was knocked off my bike and injured, the extent of my injuries he couldn't possibly speculate on. His car would likely have been damaged in the impact. He'd have had to wait at the scene while the gardai and perhaps an ambulance arrived. He'd have had to worry about whether he could concoct a convincing story to cover up his being directly responsible for the incident - or maybe he'd have fled the scene and then had to worry about being nabbed for it later and face further penalties for having committed a hit and run. There would be official statements to be made to the gardai. He'd have to worry about the prospect of it going to court. He'd have to consider employing legal representation. He'd have to worry about his insurance company getting involved and his future premiums being affected. He'd have to worry about the prospect facing a bill for damages. He'd have to worry about the prospect of losing his license, and his livelihood, In fact, if things went badly for him he'd have to worry about the very vague but still real possibility of a prison sentence. This would probably all drag on for months before reaching a conclusion, perhaps many many months, he'd have to deal with all of those worries throughout that time. He'd also have to deal with the hassle of taking time off work to attend a garda station, court perhaps, meet with a solicitor perhaps, deal with the paperwork from his insurers, etc, etc.

…that's all a very tedious, a very stressful, and a very real, prospect. Why on earth would someone deliberately place themselves in that situation, and particularly when all they had to gain in the first place was shaving a few seconds, if even that much, off their journey? How utterly stupid would you have to be to make that choice, can't people just cop themselves the fcuk on?

On a lighter note, I had a great cycle along the Royal Canal to the 12th Lock for a cheeky pint this evening. Now that I know it's there, it's going to be tempting on a nice summer's eve.

buffalo wrote: »

If you were the asshat in a grey helmet, RSA hi-viz vest, and a respectable looking blue shirt and black slacks who blasted through the five lamps junction northbound this evening a little after 5pm, this is for you. The light had been red for at three full seconds by the time you passed the stop line, and coupled with the yellow warning, there was no excuse for not stopping. Congratulations - you are the reason cyclists get so much flak. You are the reason I hate myself a little bit. You are the reason I want to get in touch with the Gardaí and tell them where I see the worst cycling offences, and how they should punish them with more than a €50 fine.

First the cars on the front of the queue on Portland Row had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting you as they started off on green, luckily nobody got rear-ended. Then as you milled your way through the pedestrians crossing with the green man, you were obviously not content with a mother feeling the need to move in front of her 6/7 year old son to protect him, it looked like you actually admonished her as well.

Great work there, sure you saved yourself about a minute on your way home, but caused everybody at that junction to think, "bloody cyclists". And the rest of us will bear the brunt of that. If there hadn't been three lanes of moving traffic between us, I would've chased you down and inserted my foot up your arse. You sir, are a complete and utter dickhead.

I did something yesterday I don't normally do: I walked across town at rush hour, my perambulation taking me from Merrion Square to Kilmainham.

All I can say is that from a pedestrians perspective, cyclists like this are

a) extremely annoying,
b) come across as quite aggressive

and

c) shockingly frequent

Now I know, as a cyclist, that many of us don't behave like that, and the vitriol directed to us is largely undeserved. I even started counting the number of cyclists who did proceed through ped lights, mount footpaths right in front of a mother-buggy combo to get around a red light, cycled indignantly down a one way section of road dinging their dublin bike bell, etc, etc, etc, against the number of cyclists stopped at red light, and the bold ones were a minority on my route.

But it certainly didn't feel like that from a peds perspective. @sshats like the one you described above are common enough, and visible enough, to be really annoying. Roll on the €50.

I have long said (here and elsewhere) that for most cities (including Amsterdam) greater priority should be given to pedestrians, measures should be taken to minimise car use in the urban centre, and that bicycle use will naturally fill a gap. The pedestrian experience of walking across Dublin in rush hour yesterday was marred not by cars, but by bikes.

I say this as a road and track racer, and daily bike commuter, in case anyone tries to accuse me of being a weekend warrior or some such shíte.