Boris Bajic
Guest
A few threads recently about greeting other cyclists. I am in favour, generally.
I like to appear as jolly as my thoroughly miserable disposition allows me to, but with reservations.
I recall from my motorcycling days that riders in france and elsewhere in the LHD world often lift the fingers (or whole palm) of their clutch hand when passing a rider coming the other way. This doesn't work in the UK, because it's the throttle hand on the offside.
Similarly, on a big, lung-ripper of a climb in France, I am not surprised when every fifth car drops a window and yells a hearty "COUUU-RAAAAGE!"
It feels good. It feels Gallic. It gets me up the hill. It makes me taste the coffee I haven't yet ordered.
However, when struggling and dying on a climb on the Malverns or the Beacons, I do not want this.
It's the same as buying a galette from a street cook (even a French one) in London. It was not the food that made it special in Normandy. It will be a let-down. You will still be in Liverpool Street when you're looking for a bin for the wrapper.
Some habits and pleasures do not travel. By all means give me a slightly cool (or even imperceptible) nod as I ride past, but no smiles please. No greetings that take the hand more than 2cm from the brake lever and...
Do Not Shout "COOUUU-RAAAAAGE!" at me when I'm climbing in p1ssy, wet, cold Worcestershire.
Thank you for reading this, even if you didn't.
I like to appear as jolly as my thoroughly miserable disposition allows me to, but with reservations.
I recall from my motorcycling days that riders in france and elsewhere in the LHD world often lift the fingers (or whole palm) of their clutch hand when passing a rider coming the other way. This doesn't work in the UK, because it's the throttle hand on the offside.
Similarly, on a big, lung-ripper of a climb in France, I am not surprised when every fifth car drops a window and yells a hearty "COUUU-RAAAAGE!"
It feels good. It feels Gallic. It gets me up the hill. It makes me taste the coffee I haven't yet ordered.
However, when struggling and dying on a climb on the Malverns or the Beacons, I do not want this.
It's the same as buying a galette from a street cook (even a French one) in London. It was not the food that made it special in Normandy. It will be a let-down. You will still be in Liverpool Street when you're looking for a bin for the wrapper.
Some habits and pleasures do not travel. By all means give me a slightly cool (or even imperceptible) nod as I ride past, but no smiles please. No greetings that take the hand more than 2cm from the brake lever and...
Do Not Shout "COOUUU-RAAAAAGE!" at me when I'm climbing in p1ssy, wet, cold Worcestershire.
Thank you for reading this, even if you didn't.
