In October 2021, I cycled from Munich to Glasgow to participate in COP26, while facilitating Climate Fresk workshops on the road. The idea of my trip was to show (and prove to myself) that fighting the climate crisis and raising public awareness are actually joyful and creative adventures. This article is part of a series of publications sharing this experience.
Four weeks on the bike and there have been several times I thought: wow, this is dangerous.
Like when I ended up cycling at night on a motorway in Glasgow; when I took a roundabout in the opposite direction (welcome to the UK); when I was cycling up very slowly a big wet hill; when an SUV was overtaking me (once); when an SUV was overtaking me (twice); when an SUV was overtaking me (three times and more); when I was invited to sleep at people’s houses with an SUV.
So, I could have died about 10 times along the way, but since I am still well and alive, there are a couple of (almost funny) stories to tell.
About SUVs, the cyclists’ hell. For a long time, I wondered why they seemed to want me dead, because they were (often) the ones who passed me too close. But no need to be Sherlock Holmes: SUVs take up more space, so they have less room to pass you, so they pass you too close. We could make bigger roads, though I think we should rather make smaller cars. I don’t have the figures to say that this would certainly reduce the probability of deadly accidents, but it would certainly reduce the number of big scares. Especially when you realise how big some of them are. If we collide, they’ll mow you down. Chance of survival: rotten. With a small car: mowed down in the legs. Chance of paraplegia: high, but the chances of survival are already better.
Because of that, I developed a fear-hate mix towards SUVs, which unfortunately rubbed off on their owners. So, the day I was invited to stay at a couple’s who had one SUV in front of the house and another in the garage, I almost retreated. But it had been raining like crazy for two hours and I needed to dry off.
Just kidding. The reality is that SUVs owners are not as scary as their cars. It was one of the best evenings of my trip and the genuinely kindest hosts I had. They fed me, housed me, tea-ed me, we talked all evening, exchanged ideas, played the Climate Fresk on their living room’s floor, they even calculated their carbon footprint and at breakfast talked about the possibility of getting rid of one of their cars. I almost kissed them. Not kidding.
A week later, I was the one looking for trouble. Cycling on the motorway is a very bad idea. Don’t think I’m suicidal, I really didn’t do it on purpose.
Second night in Glasgow. First day of the COP. All the heads of state are around. Imagine a barricaded city, bypasses and blocked roads. Imagine Béné, a little tipsy, having just spent a delightful evening with her new friends. Of course, she rides her bike home. It’s so nice to cycle home at night. The road she wants to take is blocked. She turns around. She takes another one but sees the blue sign that clearly says that in 200 yards it’s a motorway. That is obviously a bad idea, so she turns back. Asking the policemen for directions, they tell her yes, over there! She thinks that if they send her on this route anyway, there will be an exit just before the motorway section.
Nope.
Here is Benedicte on her bike on the motorway. To make things even better: a motorway on a bridge. There is no guardrail to take cover, no way to turn around.
She almost pees herself. Let a lot of swear words out. Finally gets arrested by the police (other than those who sent her to her death). Gets yelled at royally, then escorted (in an SUV, that irony) to the next exit. Gets yelled at again. Apologises profusely. Feels really stupid but also relieved. Continues 15 minutes on foot with trembling legs pushing her bike. Laughs darkly as she imagines the media coverage: a cyclo-activist crushed on a motorway as she arrives in Glasgow. What a shitty ending.
In short, the police sent me to die (not cool), then saved my life (cool). We can say that they understand that net-zero idea (this joke will only be funny for some).
The highlight of the story is the next day when I told a local cyclist about my misadventure. He laughed at me and said: it happens all the time in Glasgow! Infrastructure is so bad that suddenly you find yourself on the motorway without understanding how you got there.
Oh, right. Boring story then. It reminded me of the time I had a motorbike taxi accident in Cameroon and the guy gets up, asks me if I’m ok (I am), and concludes: well, it’s not our time today, then waits for me to get back on the motorbike, and brings me to my destination. Just a routine near death exercise.
Anyways, short of being run over by a car going 120km/h, I could have chosen the slow death option in the English countryside. A tough climb, in the rain, I’m on the smallest gear, moving so slowly that I finally lose my balance and sprawl on the side of the road, two centimetres from the barbed wire. Nothing epic and very unspectacular. I still don’t assume this very pathetic fall but If I’d seen me fall, I would have laugh out of “schadenfreude”.
I also still don’t assume that left and right have always been a challenging concept for me, but it got even worse when everything that usually happens on the right moved to the left. It didn’t take too long for me to cycle a roundabout in the wrong direction. For the adrenaline, we’ll say. Mine, and that of the driver of the red polo to whom I gave a big scare (sorry!).
That’s it.
I’m not dead. I’ll do some cycling adventures again soon. Tomorrow we could be hit by our neighbour’s SUV or die suddenly after a collision on a ski slope (RIP Gaspard Ulliel) so frankly, let’s do it.
I’d be careful to avoid motorways and to campaign for the end of SUVs though. Just to make life last a little longer.
Les Notes à Béné 