Raging Bicycles

Not for the first time today, I’d been cut up during my daily commute from work. I’m starting to wonder at what point the inevitable will finally happen and the cuts will become painfully literal. The heady concoction of German four-stroke precision engineering encased in a lump of metal, and what looks to be a local driver, pass within half an inch of my right elbow at a speed which doesn’t quite warrant the ‘Conducive to rush-hour safety’ label. It’s difficult to recognise any beauty in the form of a motor vehicle when it’s responsible for threatening your existence.

Nothing unusual there, you may ponder, and of course, you’d be correct in your assumption: that kind of action on the roads of Singapore is as ubiquitous as waking up here and getting a sweat on at some point in the day. No. That was normal. I wouldn’t say I’m delighted about it – I’m forever being overtaken by buses that give me a friendly beep of their horn that translates as, “I am now passing you so don’t hold me accountable for the fact that you will have ten mosquitoes’ width between the front of the vehicle and your bicycle, before I knock you to your certain death with the rear of my bus.” Or something along those lines (the double yellow lines, at that…)

I can’t condone this, but I’m sure my cycling compadres out there will concur when I say that it is actually the aforementioned manoeuvre combined with the emergency stop performed a smattering of yards in front of where you’re heading that is the cause of boiling blood. (Did I say ‘emergency’ stop? Sorry, I meant to say the emergency “I am now dropping someone off” stop.)

Getting back to my point, this is exactly what the BMW did as it rocketed past my shoulder, before cutting in sharply and giving my poor front tyre the scare of its life as it braked to a deafening and definite stop right in front of my handlebars. It was okay though; he did use his hazard warning lights once he’d come to a complete standstill.

I slammed on my brakes in an unmitigated response and made my way around to the driver’s side; his female passenger alighting, obviously in awe of his superior driving ability. I banged my fist on his window and mouthed through the glass, “WIND YOUR WINDOW DOWN!” (forgetting that windows don’t wind down very much these days, especially in flash BMWs). He inched it down, tentatively, about the same sort of distance he’d provided when he passed me in excess of the sound barrier several moments ago.
“Yes?” came the meek reply.
“What’s the difference between a BMW and a porcupine?” I queried, still agitated at his nonplussed expression.
“Sorry?”
“I’ll tell you!” I shouted at him, “The pricks are on the outside of a porcupine. Now stop driving like a tosser who thinks he’ll be invited to drive in the Formula 1 this year.”

Well, maybe not. But that’s how the reaction panned out in my mind in the few moments that followed the incident. The thought of physical violence also crossed my mind if I’m honest…as long as he’d wound down his window far enough. No, the truth of the matter is that if I did this after every unsavoury traffic transaction, I’d end up having to replace my brake pads on a daily basis, not to mention the fact that I’d never arrive at work or get home again, should I make it there in the first place.

My better half is currently reading a book entitled, Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, essentially a self-help book on how not to let things such as the incident described above ruin your day. I even found the opening page reflected my daily traffic toil:

A stranger, for example, might cut in front of us in traffic. Rather than let it go, and go on with our day, we convince ourselves that we are justified in our anger.

Bollocks. I am justified.

A friend of mine refuses to cycle to work anymore as he thinks that, statistically – don’t ask me how he came by the maths – he will end up inside a body bag if he were to continue. I’m starting to see his point of view, irrespective of how accurate and reliable his data collection is. God help me if I ever end up requiring the services of an ambulance. The hazard warning lights of a taxi are given more priority than the sirens of an emergency vehicle out to save someone’s life. I’ll just walk to the hospital…unless my bike is still rideable.

(Previously published in Singapore's Idle Banter)