Mass Transit
Like many other ordinary London wage slaves, I baulk at the prospect of £0.76 out of every £1.19 litre of petrol I put in my car going to Gordon Brown so that he can joyfully spunk it all away on banks, hospital managers and PR gurus with all the restraint of Posh Spice at a Harvey Nicks closing down sale. Indeed, it's fair to say that it makes me seethe like Mount Etna after imbibing an city sized prawn vindaloo.

Then there's the inescapable fact that it's nose to tail traffic all the way in to the office. My stress levels are raised by rounds cut and thrust driving and sparring with between psychotic cockney cab drivers ("Faahk orf aaht 'uv it, ya faahkin' khant!"), rabidly deranged MILFs in Mercedes SUVs smug in the knowledge that their pampered offspring are safe from the paedophiles lurking behind every lamppost along the school run, the sleepy truck drivers who insist on taking fucking ages to do anything and worst of all, those wretched souls who persist on washing your windscreen at traffic lights and feign ignorance of the universally recognised meaning of "Fuck off!".

Yep, driving one's own car is bad for the soul these days, so I elected to do as Norman Tebbitt once helpfully suggested and get on my bike.

My ride to work is roughly ten miles and to be honest I'm quite happy with the journey as most of it carries me along a canal towpath and through a nature reserve. It's a heck of a lot better for the soul than a miserable journey by road staring at the arse end of a TX1 cab, chauffeured by a lobotomized OrangUtan.

Quite frankly, it's a revelation. Each morning I get to appreciate the tranquil beauty of nature as it goes about its wholesome business while I pedal past. Winter mornings I watch the sun lazily rise and the crisp, dark rides home leave me feeling refreshed and smiling. On warm summer mornings, I'm waved at by friendly folk on their canalboats and I've slowly been accepted as part of the scenery by the numerous fauna I pass en route.

"Good morning Mr black and white water bird, with big blue feet" I cheerily announce as if I'm greeting a neighbour.

"Hello Deer!" I smoothly chime to a timid creature staring at me through the hedgerows.

It's wonderful, there's no-one to criticise the badness of my puns. I swear that on some mornings, the animals smile back.

However, I'm not the only one who's made a move toward more eco-friendly transport. And frankly, the six foot wide towpath has suddenly become somewhat claustrophobic as half of London seems to have cottoned on.

Kamikaze Jews

There is a small, demented group of Red Sea Pedestrians who have embraced off road cycling. The fact that these guys eschew the normal garb of baggy man made fibre for traditional snow white shirts, black waistcoats and skullcaps means I have some long range warning as they approach. Dear God I need it.

They're crazed I'm telling you... For they never, ever let me pass. Instead, they opt to aim their bicycles straight at me as if to challenge me to a game of towpath chicken. They don't hang about either, any collision with these old testament folk is going to hurt some.

I'm forced into the shrubbery to let the Orthodox folk past, but never once do I get a nod or smile of recognition.

The Slavering Hounds

Dog walkers. They're a selfish bunch aren't they?

Without fail, at least once a day a middle aged person with a brace of semi feral canines will pretend not to notice my approach until the very last minute, until they suddenly stop, panic and attempt to usher the hounds to one side of the path.

"Come here!" they'll brainlessly twitter as their dog promptly ignores them and stands sideways right in my way.

Slow. Brake. Stop.

"Oh he's usually much better behaved!" is generally the response I get as their ridiculous excuse for a dog is shooed along.

Then there's the dog owners who aren't as bright as their pets. Last year, I'm minding my own business when a large spaniel chasing a stick leaps out in front of me, making me slam on the anchors and nearly fall off my bike.

"You should keep control of your animal!" I yelled at the slightly overweight middle aged woman owner.

"You should watch where you're goin' innit!" she yelled back before compounding her stupidity with the sentence "This ain't a cycle path!", oblivious to the fact that a large, blue sign not six feet away stated otherwise.

The man I presumed to be her husband appeared by her side. Fuming, I pulled my headphones from my ears and looked them both in the eye.

"It can't be easy being married to someone so stupid" I sympathetically offered the more masculine of the two.

With that, I swung a leg over my bike and pedalled off, leaving a stunned silence in my wake. Never has a point been so well made.

Hissing Hitler Geese

Geese are rubbish. The avian answer to the Pit Bull, these birds have an evil temper and think nothing of squaring up to you hissing like Mary Whitehouse at a Chubby Brown gig. Never mind that I'm ten times the size of them, they'll eyeball me and have a go

The very towpath that was created and maintained by homo sapiens is ruthlessly annexed by a bunch of territory obsessed thugs. Honestly, they even goose step too.

Once they've finished conquering by intimidation, they decide to leave the place liberally spattered with greasy, goose shit just waiting to cause chaos.

"Oooh fuck!" I'll whimper and my front wheel suddenly slips sideways as I feel an unwelcome twitch in the saddle area as I momentarily contemplate an unplanned dunking in the canal.

Shit

Having to scrape slimy green kaka off my expensive Specialized frame every day is not quite the ultimate indignity.

Even worse is trying to lever out the stinking remnants of some incontinent canine's last meal from my tyre treads before I wheel my bike through the office.

No, my most recent scatological trauma is far worse...

One morning I'm happily pelting along the towpath as the sky is blue and the bright sunlight is warming even the darkest recesses of my soul. The day is perfect, however as I round the next corner I'm greeted by a sight that even now I'm unable to fully accept as reality.

My gaze falls upon a man in his twenties, squatting by the side of the path in broad daylight, pants round his ankles joyfully indulging in an al fresco number two, looking like he didn't have a care in the world... Not fifty yards from a set of well maintained public toilets.

"Mornin' mate" he greets as I cycle past.

For the love of God and all things holy, what kind of utter bastard unleashes their stinking arse cigar by the side of a path so that everyone can cycle through it? Short of seeing the disgusting individual hung, drawn and quartered, I cannot think of any penalty which befits that particularly unpleasant crime.

It's only going to get worse when nobody can afford their own cars anymore.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 29 May 2008, 16:52, 7 replies)

that gets a big click from me
:)
(The Goat www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com, Thu 29 May 2008, 16:59, closed)

Brilliant tales
I'm guessing by the Kamikaze Jews tale that your route takes you near the Lee Valley Towpath at some point?
(Bazongaloid, Thu 29 May 2008, 17:33, closed)

"Hello trees, hello sky, hello birds........."
Fotherington Thomas didn't have to contend with fourbies & shit.

*clickage*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 29 May 2008, 18:17, closed)

@ Al
is there a strict Jewish sect there then?
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 30 May 2008, 0:25, closed)

Well,
not actually on the towpath, that would be weird. But the towpath starts in Clapton, which is an area with a very high population of orthodox jews.
(Bazongaloid, Fri 30 May 2008, 9:30, closed)

Kamikaze Jews
Their driving is somewhat similar. I used to drive thorugh Clapton and Stamford Hill quite often so have witnessed it first hand. It's like they are trusting God to get them through, so they don't need to drive properly. And they always drive Volvo's too, but I don't suppose they would drive VW's would they...
(hutchers, Fri 30 May 2008, 21:00, closed)

Cycling from Camberwell to Victoria every day
I don't have the luxury of a canal path to cycle along. But I amuse myself by counting the number of male cyclists (invariably middle-aged) who overtake me by going through red traffic lights, or cutting across a corner/going on the pavement, who are then flabbergasted when I overtake them again quite easily. One can almost hear their little hearts going into overtime as they try to overtake me, and fail. There's one arab guy who always looks really offended and angry when I overtake him, but he still won't give up on trying to get back in front of me. Presumably he just wants to ascertain his manliness, because a woman overtaking him is an affront to men. Possibly.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Sat 31 May 2008, 17:13, closed)