Päddi vs Michi #Dispute about hire bikes
Tell me Michael, where does this strange affection for your own bike come from? I don't understand it. It's just a metal frame (yes I know, carbon is not metal) with two wheels on it. Let's argue a bit.
Biking has become a real religion in recent years. And we all know that religious feelings should never be hurt. So, let's get going.
A few metres down the road from my front door, there's a sticker on a traffic sign. It says: "Driving makes you stupid". In the past, I would have agreed without hesitation. But today? I tend to agree with the thesis: "Cycling makes you narrow-minded". Cyclists have actually managed to make me like car drivers. Yet I can't drive a car myself, I don't even have a driving licence. Never done it. The consistent disregard of all traffic rules by most cyclists is one thing. As long as I get off scot-free, that's fine by me.
Please no misunderstandings
So that we understand each other correctly: I actually think cycling is great. It's probably the smartest way to get around, especially in urban areas. But somehow I've lost interest in it. Just because I'm travelling on two wheels doesn't automatically mean I always have the right of way everywhere. Nor am I automatically a superhuman who is morally superior to all other sub-humans. This attitude is annoying and makes me a little unsympathetic. If anything, the pedestrian would be the morally superior road user and therefore the winner of this contest. Nobody else is travelling in such a conscious, sustainable, environmentally friendly and CO2-neutral way. Unless I have flatulence. But that's a story in itself.
Say hello to Daisy
And now for the other: this self-indulgent adoration of your own bike. Recently, a friend of mine actually presented her new bike to me with the following words: "May I introduce - this is Daisy from the Huber family. Her original name was Babette. But I think she's more of a Daisy".
She? Daisy? Tell me, do you still have them all? "Why, it's my new bike," replied the now ex-boyfriend, offended. Yes, it's your new bike. ES! has no gender. It's just a bike. But I digress, I wanted to write something about hire bikes. A topic that is thankfully not at all polarising.
Commuting and borrowing
I'm a commuter, use the train of course. And now I'm thinking about buying a hire bike subscription in Zurich. It's super practical and works like this or similar in many Swiss cities. I grab one at the station, cycle the few hundred metres to work and then cycle back in the evening. For just a few francs a month. If the bike is stolen or dismantled, who cares? Now that's a deal. There are plenty of suppliers here in Zurich:
I'm also guaranteed to obey most of the traffic rules, I promise. And, unlike the other cyclists, I'll put on a friendly face. Maybe even garnished with a little smile from time to time. What more could a hire cyclist's heart want? Who needs their own Daisy? Exactly.
Have finished.
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It knows my sweat, I know its welds inside out. My bike and I are one when we're braving city traffic - and I want to keep it that way!
Come on, Patrick. There's a war going on out there and you're relying on mercenary troops? Are you serious? I'm afraid so, but there are extenuating circumstances. As a migratory bird, you can't know any better. I, on the other hand, fight my way through the city on my bike every day, where the SUV army rolls and cycle paths run directly into tram tracks. When it's elbows against wing mirrors, mudguards against lungs, it doesn't matter which saddle you choose. Otherwise, hurt feelings will quickly become the least of your problems.
The road hogs, it's always the others
I don't deny that cyclists like to interpret traffic rules creatively. But there are also an astonishing number of car drivers with an acute red-green weakness. And - no misunderstandings, please! - Walking is a damn smart way to get around. Just take off your noise-cancelling headphones from time to time and take your eyes off your smartphone before you hit the road. The 50 cm next to the kerb is our territory. Where manhole covers swallow up tyres and potholes the size of swimming lakes adorn the roads. We cyclists, the living ham in the sandwich between the road and the pavement, have plenty of practice in avoiding them. Something has to change, and you don't start a revolution with a law book under your arm. So forgive me if there are one or two bends in the law.
Streetwalking? Without me!
Now there's another obstacle, because they really are everywhere. I'm really annoyed by the out-of-control road strip for e-bikes. They offer their services for a few francs every few metres. Some are run-down, some are painted too brightly, but in any case they are not to be envied. Used briefly and carelessly parked, they are neither hygienically nor morally a reason to cheer. "Pick and ride me"? I could puke. And you don't just send the pimps suppliers your money, but your movement data too.
A plea for diversity
If you want to join the grey masses on such a maltreated vehicle - go ahead. At least you'll be riding a bike, bravo. But wouldn't it be nicer to give an old-fashioned bike its life as a station bike? As part of the diversity alongside the avalanche of traffic. If you want to discover them, find a few secret routes and you'll find them all - often with a smile on your face. Female students on vintage bikes. Beer bellies over racing handlebars. Hipsters on fixies. Racing pensioners with 500 watts behind them. Safety fanatics with fluorescent waistcoats, rear-view mirrors and trouser clips. The future of urban transport, all together. All individual. The thing with the names? No problem. The famous whistling in the woods. It just welds us together in the eternal struggle for existence. Better to have a slightly daft nickname for your bike instead of riding around on a soulless, rolling billboard.
Say hello to Daisy!
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From radio journalist to product tester and storyteller, jogger to gravel bike novice and fitness enthusiast with barbells and dumbbells. I'm excited to see where the journey'll take me next.