I was a proud partaker of the Sydney v Melbourne debate – until I made the move myself. Over three years, me, a proud Victorian, slowly warmed to Sydney’s charms: the sunny beaches, the nature, the abundance of dog-friendly pubs.
With one exception.
This city despises bicycles. Why?
Why has it been designed, and redesigned, in such a way that often the only option is to ride helplessly on a shared pedestrian pathway littered with potholes, hoping you don’t crash into a child or veer into a tree?
Why does Sydney, with very few exceptions, refuse to build specific bike lanes? Why am I constantly reading op-eds about Sydneysiders’ deep-seated fear of losing parking spaces or – God forbid – making our roads more accessible?
In Melbourne, I would ride effortlessly from one side of the city to the other, the wind in my hair, waving good-naturedly at my fellow citizens. I would float down Melbourne’s bicycle highway of Canning Street, ethereal, serene.
Yet in Sydney, I have had encounters that have filled me with a deep-seated rage, that have forced me to repeat profanities I would never have imagined possible.
I have had couples yelling at me when I ring my bell, dog owners huffing dramatically when I have a near-miss with their pug, drivers wind down their windows to screech out if I dare share the road with their Commodores.
I have attempted an 18-minute ride to work and taken an hour because there were so few bike lanes I kept getting lost.
I have even been yelled at on the Glebe foreshore – theoretically one of the more friendly places to mount a bicycle.
If I can’t ride there, where can I ride? What in this concrete jungle is left?
