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Dear Rouleurs,

I’m a bit fired up at the moment. Let me explain.  Last Sunday evening I’m out for an early evening ride.  The weather was atrocious in the morning and sleeping in with my 7 month pregnant wife seemed like a much better idea.  Usually I ride in early in the morning, in the hope of missing traffic and pedestrians who like to use traffic lights.  I’ll have to write about that pet peeve in different blog.

Sunday is different, the weather is still and humid, actually quite good conditions ignoring the surface water still on the road.  I zip out about 4.30pm-ish.  I’ve had one too many caffeinated drinks and I can feel a headache coming on.  I won’t sleep unless I metabolize the caffeine.  So I do short ride down to the Brighton Seabaths.  There’s a bit more traffic round than I would like but I’m careful.

I’m almost home when I have to start slowing down.  The segment of the bike path that starts opposite The Pier Hotel and ends near the Beacon Cove tram stop is always populated by less than attentive pedestrians who just wander aimlessly oblivious to the speeding cyclists who should have right of way on a dedicated path. This evening is no different.

A family of 2 adults and 2 little kids are about to cross the path.  They haven’t seen me.  I don’t know why, I have 2 Moon 300 lumen flashing lights on my bike.  I slow right down.  They eventually notice me, stop and let me through on the path.  Sadly this kind of courtesy on the path is not the norm. I say ‘thanks’ to guy and I receive a friendly nod in return.

About 30 seconds later I experience the more common treatment that cyclists receive.  I’m moving on the road and trying to get around this enormous oil truck queuing for the Spirit of Tasmania.  I then hear ‘Mate, get off the f%#king middle of road’.  I move round the truck, head towards the pedestrian crossing.  I turn around and see a blue Ford ute with a dog house and mattress strapped down on the back.  Another stream of abuse comes from the ute.

I’ve red misted and flipped these bogans the bird.  Unsurprisingly its returned, by male bogan passenger, presumably the original loudmouth and a bottle blonde female bogan. I’m seriously tempted to follow them and give them a real blast. Then the red mist clears and I realise that I’m better than that. I ride home wanting to punch someone or something.

A few days later, I’m still pretty angry, hence this blog.  That was just plain unnecessary considering its a 20 Km/h zone and all these idiots were doing was queuing to get on the Spirit of Tasmania.   Which brings me to my therapy.  To the loud mouth dickhead in the ute – ‘Mate, was dog house for you or the blonde rottweiler driving the ute?’

Given that the Giro is on and that there is no chance that you understand Italian ‘Vaffanculo!!!’ with appropriate hand gesture.

Until next time, ride safe and avoid ute-driving bogans

Marv