Motorist Madness. An article from some years ago. The sentiment is the same though the circumstances have changed.

I’m so glad I don’t have a car. The responsibility, the cost, the parking. More trouble than they’re worth. Plus, I don’t need one. There was a time when I toyed with the idea of investing in one, but common sense kicked in and I’ve never looked back. I have a driving licence, which unfortunately is extremely useful. You know, when a friend moves house. But I prefer not having to use it. I do, however, have the pleasure of enjoying the constant horn hooting of an evening and lunchtime on my street, where it is impossible to park. The traffic builds up, drivers bang their heads on their horns in frustration and, for all I know, die there, and the exhaust fumes sail swiftly and elegantly up through my living room window. That sweet smell infiltrates my flat so that I live in a semi-permanent state of hallucination.

So as you can see, I’m a big fan of cars. One particular case in favour of motor vehicles is driving an English car on a European motorway. The first exciting game consists of not being able to see. The second is that having foreign plates qualifies you to be tailgated, overtaken on the inside and generally made to feel like a three-wheeler in the fast lane.

Even if you are driving in a country-appropriate vehicle, some motorways in Spain, for example, have added entertainment, due to the fact that exits are also entrances, so there is a Grand Theft Auto element of having to weave in and out of lanes and between cars in order to achieve your desired travel plan. The only problem is that, unlike GTA, if you crash, you probably die. It reminds me of the airline safety instructions that tell you what to do in the event of landing on water. LANDING??? ON WATER??? You’re going to die.
Having said that, I drove for three years around the whole of Spain and never had so much as a scratch. As I say this I am touching all the wood available in the immediate vicinity.

Pretty much the only time I will accept a lift is when I am heavily laden, or if I have to arrive somewhere at a certain time, and to do so I have to travel a distance further than can be covered in 30 minutes on foot, or if I’m feeling a bit under the weather. Feeling a little peaky isn’t really a good excuse though, is it? It could be interpreted as laziness.

Of course, not all motorised vehicles are abhorrent, (except for the pollution, rage and death that they cause). If public transport were better, I would use it and never ever use a car. But when you need to go to the hospital to which you cannot walk a) unless you fancy a stroll along the hard shoulder or b) because your leg is broken, and to top it all the buses are HOURLY, it dampens your ecological spirit.

So, being someone who enjoys the feeling of friction beneath me, I am a confirmed walker, given that generally in a town centre it’s actually quicker than trying to navigate the traffic in a car. Weather (and hills) permitting, I cycle. And although on my bike on a windy day pedestrians may overtake me, I actually enjoy the feeling of aching thighs and the reddening of my puffing cheeks, followed by the collapse into a chair after heaving my bike up four flights of stairs. It’s very rewarding. Honestly.

In Berlin, (other European cities are available), there are more bikes than cars. Bike lanes ALL over the city. Bikes have priority, their lanes, their crossings and, most importantly, drivers and pedestrians are aware of them and respect them. In my town in Spain there has been an initiative to promote two-wheeled transport including a municipal Rent-a-bike project, where most of the bikes are parked up and shiny as if never having been used. Who’d’ve thought?

There are new cycle lanes, without tarmac of course, so that when it starts raining lightly you end up with a beautiful line of earth right up your back and brown legs from the knee down.

Said lanes often end unexpectedly in the middle of a main road, often with a parked car directly in front of you so that you have to force a skid in order not to hurl yourself gloriously into the path of oncoming traffic.

Said lanes are also frequently obstructed by trees, narrowed to allow for parking spaces or peopled by pedestrians enjoying a stroll. It’s fun for all the family.

So really the only option I am left with is to stay in my flat and write angry articles. So that’s what I’ll do. Until I need to work, buy food or have contact with other human beings. At which time I’ll probably just do it online.

Twist.

Since writing this article I have unfortunately become a driver once more and, to my chagrin, the owner of an automobile. Moving to a small village with virtually non-existent public transport and the threat of death were I to get on my bike to traverse the four kilometre ride to work and back on an unlit bendy main road at night has forced me to succumb in order to get to work and get home at a reasonable hour and in one piece.

In my defence, I tend to walk to the local supermarket and return heavily laden on purpose as penance. And it really hurts.

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