Yesterday, I popped out for a lunchtime ride. I had precisely one hour – less, really – to complete a route that would take me sixty minutes. So, you can imagine my dismay when I spotted the ‘road closure’ sign looming.
Road closures are often a game of Russian roulette for cyclists, with a series of possible outcomes. One: we ignore the road closure signs, and are vindicated on arrival at an empty stretch of road adorned by a single orange cone. Two: we ignore the road closure signs and find ourselves attempting to clamber over barbed-wire fences and into fields of cows, wearing thin lycra and a set of cleats.
Or, the Holy Grail of road closure: a situation where the road genuinely is impassible for cars, but leaves space for cyclists to sail by as the traffic count slowly reduces, save for the occasional irate Range Rover driver who clearly hoped for scenario one.
Yesterday, I discovered a road closure bordered by a thin, fenced-off stretch of tarmac that perfectly accommodated me as a cyclist.
Most likely, the workers just needed a passing strip for reasons related to the job in hand. Or, residents of the nearby houses required access to their homes. However, as my freewheel clicked along past this minor disruption, I felt like I – or we, the cyclists – had been recognised.
The stretch itself was metres long, but most of the already often quiet lane – nestled in the shadow of the UK’s South Downs National Park – was car-free as a result of the presence of ‘diversion’ signs at every adjacent junction.
The only other humans I saw were a woman walking in the midday sun and an e-bike rider who waved as I pulled over to photograph the very lovely road closure in all its glory. Perhaps the quiet got to my head, perhaps it was the recent 33-degree heat, maybe I was just feeling contemplative – but it got me thinking.
(Image credit: Future)
Cycling outdoors has taken a back seat for me in the last year or so, after the birth of my second daughter. Much of this absence has been down to time constraints, logistics, and needing to be on hand should the elder one need a poo that only mummy can be trusted with. But also, a little bit of fear has crept in, and I hate to admit that it’s festered to the point of creating hesitancy.
Cyclists are used to hearing those outside our dyed-in-the-wool bubble refer to ‘dangerous roads’, ‘scary conditions’, and close-passing concerns. Whilst we all know road conditions aren’t great, when you’re riding daily, it’s easy to become desensitised. The close passes or unpleasant altercations are far outweighed by the joy that bike riding brings to our existence. But if you take a long break – a year, for example – the reticence born of these experiences can escalate.
I didn’t ride outside so much during my second pregnancy. Every pregnancy is unique, but a second bump can balloon more quickly and be more uncomfortable. Differing due dates made for wetter, colder weather during the final months. And, I had a toddler on hand to help deplete the energy reserves pregnancy left behind by the end of the day. The result was longer off the bike than intended.
Now, when I do ride, all I wish for is a bright, high-viz jersey that reads: “Mum of two. Still breastfeeding. Seriously, just want to get home safely, please.”
I remember reading a tragic story, some years ago (so long ago, Google simply can’t find it for me now), about a mother who died whilst commuting by bike. She was still breastfeeding her daughter, and after her death, the child would go to the door at the end of the day, waiting for mummy to come home. I’m not exaggerating when I say that that story cycles through my head every single time I get outside to spin my legs.
The last thing I want is to fearmonger on Cycling Weekly. Statistically, cycling is safe. In fact, I will repeat time and time again the fact that – per mile covered – cycling is safer than walking, yet I haven’t contemplated a hiatus from using my two legs as God intended.
The concern isn’t necessarily rational; it’s psychological, it’s the idea of depriving my children of a mother because I wanted to enjoy my hobby, even though I know that having a healthy, active mum as a role model carries infinite physical and emotional benefits for everyone involved.
Road conditions are repeatedly highlighted in surveys as the number one barrier putting women off cycling, so I know I’m not alone. I also know that cycling is one of the best things I can do for myself and for my family. Right now – even a year postpartum – I just need the occasional reminder.
And that’s perhaps why seeing a road closure that appeared to take cyclists into account made me feel safer, happier on the bike. It was an example (even if, really, it was about access and convenience), of road planning acknowledging that cyclists exist. That tiny stretch of tarmac made me feel safer and more content for the next 15 miles.
Now, imagine if more road planning decisions really, genuinely made space for cyclists, beyond painted lines? Imagine a world where fear wasn’t even a part of the equation. It’s better, isn’t it?
And, if you’ve seen a really good road closure lately, I’d love to see them in the comments – that’ll brighten my day right up.
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