Road Roulette

An interesting side effect of the cold spell, big freeze, or whatever exciting headline we decide on for the weather we’ve been having, is that it’s forced me back onto the main roads for my commute.

My usual cut-throughs and back streets have been ungritted and only rideable with the greatest of care and a certain amount of compromise between myself and where the wheels want to go. This does not make for a brisk, nor a particularly safe, ride to work. Let’s face it, once you’ve fallen and slid on ice a couple of times in one trip the novelty really does wear off a little. And by “a little” I mean that a bruised thigh where you landed on your keys and a soaking wet and therefore no longer wind-proof glove puts you off the idea of ice riding on slicks for a good while.

Therefore I’ve been on the main roads. These are the bus routes and the important trunk roads that make up a chunk of the route, and which I’d almost forgotten existed. They’re gritted and clear of ice and add a genuine frisson of excitement to the journey.

Once again I have wide patches of bus lane to myself until I have to negotiate the busses that insist on sharing them, and the motorbikes, and the odd car on its way to a fixed penalty. I have mixed it up with cars thundering along, and with motorbikes that constantly share the Advance Stop Boxes and then come through from my right as I try and turn that way. I’ve jinked and ducked between lanes of traffic and prayed that the bike does what it’s told this time at least and that the moving vehicles stick to the predictable pattern I’ve calculated, and I’ve merged seamlessly with my road companions who are 10 times my size and weight and held my own. It’s great and exciting as long as you remember not to think too hard and not to be scared. One moment of doubt and it all falls apart, and then you’re just a breakable soft thing trying to balance on two spinning wheels in the dark, in a place you wouldn’t dream of standing on your feet. All of the strange confidence that comes with having a “vehicle” between your legs evaporates and you can barely make it home to crawl inside and vow never to venture out again.

But it’s probably every time that you make it home that makes it fun. For a while I’m enjoying the danger and the slight feeling of being a hero on the big roads, and when the big thaw comes I’ll appreciate the quieter back-roads all the more.

A