“Cyclists are a menace and should be banned from the roads,” read the headline. It was 2015, and the most controversial article I had ever written had just been published on a national newspaper’s website, attacking Mamils – middle-aged men in Lycra – and anyone, as I then saw it, stupid enough to ride a bike.
The backlash was caustic. Furious hordes accused me of stirring up hate, of encouraging reckless, criminal motorists and of indirectly putting cyclists in danger. Cyclists who had been knocked off their bikes and people whose cycling relatives had been injured got in touch. I was horrified but also convinced that most motorists were careful, sensible and well-meaning, so the accidents must have been tragic, rare, isolated incidents.
Looking back now, I understand their rage better. I thought I’d thrown a stick on a campfire, but I’d poured petrol on an inferno. According to the Department for Transport, about 100 cyclists die on British roads every year. In 2022, 4,056 were seriously injured and 11,546 slightly injured.
When I wrote the piece, nowhere I had ever lived, which included cities across the country, seemed suited to cycling, and I, like my friends, viewed cyclists as eccentrics. I grew up in a remote country village with two buses a day: one into town, one out. There were no pavements or bike lanes and no safe way to walk or cycle the eight miles to town – and there still isn’t. I could not understand why anyone would take the risk of cycling down windy country roads when 4x4s existed, or pedal through London, a place where everyone seemed to hate cyclists.
But my attitude changed during lockdown. There was no lightbulb moment – but suddenly the noise of the roads was gone. Cars were no longer important because we weren’t allowed to travel. In their absence, instead of traffic outside my window I heard birdsong. A strange kind of peace descended. Nature grew louder.
I had cared about the climate crisis before but I didn’t see what I could do to make a difference, and felt little connection to the natural world. When nature grew louder, I started to feel more at home in it. I started to spend more time in it. I started to wonder how I could change my lifestyle to suit the natural world, not the other way round.
It helped that the pandemicforced me to change my routines. I worked from home. I socialised by Zoom. My world became smaller. And as I came out of lockdown, I left old habits behind. That drive to the shops? I realised I could walk it. That drive to a friend’s? I could catch a train, or call them. When my car broke down one day, instead of getting it fixed I sold it for scrap, and didn’t get a replacement.
That was the last push I needed to get fully onboard with public transport. I rode local buses, even though there’s just one an hour where I live. I took trains to parts of the country I’d only ever driven to. I travelled to remote areas of Scotland by public transport. I learned to appreciate the journey, not just the destination. These small adjustments made me see I wasn’t too old to change, and that I could do more to reduce my carbon footprint.
Was it a faff compared with driving? Yes. I let go of some independence and forgot about late-night socialising. But in many ways, it is great to be free of my steel box on wheels. I developed more patience, more flexibility, more gratitude towards the people who work in public transport, as well as friends kind enough to give me occasional lifts. And, at 42, I’ve inherited my grandma’s role as the chatty old bird at the back of the bus.
My attempts at reducing my carbon footprint have been bumbling at best. I have turned vegan, then back. Working as a travel writer, I’ve cut back on flying but have still taken flights several times this year. I won’t have children but I do have a dog. In short, I’m still trying.
I went from disliking cyclists to wishing there were more on the roads. Looking at the article now, I know it was written by a thoughtless younger version of myself, putting clicks before people. I’ve come to appreciate those taking journeys that save us from pollution. I wish my town, and Britain, could repay cyclists’ and pedestrians’ efforts with an infrastructure to help them go everywhere, safely.
Some friends still see cyclists as a nuisance. Others see me as odd for staying car-free. Still, I enjoy my chats with the station master, watching Abbott Elementary on the bus and the smiles when my pomeranian joins me on my travels. I’m even planning to try cycling. Just don’t ask me to wear Lycra.
Yvette Caster is a freelance journalist, podcaster and speaker
Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.
