There is no network of professional or social accountability on the road, only the here and now; the cost of petrol, lanes, the road code, vehicle fumes and a large group of individuals jostling to get to point b.
The road is not a philosophy, “I’m fast, I’m getting ahead, I’m a winning driver”. Thats not it. Its a whole lot of industries making dough of tax payer funded strips of tarseal. Its just a layer over the land, a place tht used to be trees and trails. Most roads were made possible by the purchase of houses from poor suburbs, to build a city vision, or a hacked up graveyard (the only available space in the middle of town) or a cart trail up a hill, avoiding boulders and puddles and eventually becoming a sealed, named route. Some roads predate European settlement. Riding my bike, the shape of some roads is unnatural, crap camber – forced. And some are comfortable – its a feeling I can barely describe, a flicker of pleasure in a long ride.
People drive in isolation, inside tin cans. Imagining I can’t see them picking their nose, yelling at their kids, believing they are inside somewhere. Or maybe a driver is stoking him or herself with a speedy manoevre.
Ambitious or successful people may drive slowly. Perhaps identity might not pushed out to the limits of the car’s metal skin. The car may just be an imperfect tool.
Other than glancing market demographic data, there is nothing I know about a person from driving behind them.
The Beehive. Cycling in the middle of the bunch. 