Kerre Woodham: Watch out for menace of sad old farts on bikes

It was a bit rich hearing cyclists complain bitterly about the arrogant and inconsiderate driving habits of motorists this week. Certainly, cyclists have had a bad run of it - two are dead after collisions with vehicles, another man almost lost his leg after colliding with a four-wheel-drive and one poor young man was deliberately run off the road by a group of thugs who, I hope, will have the book thrown at them when they are found.

But drivers on Auckland's roads have plenty of stories to tell of the arrogance and bad manners to be found among the cycling fraternity. And quite a few pedestrians have tales to tell of cyclists who believe they can ride anywhere, at any time, and that a "Look out!" bellowed at sufficient volume is sufficient warning that they're coming through at speed.

A couple of middle-aged men who'd obviously been given mountain bikes by Santa last Christmas wedged themselves into all the latest Lycra riding gear and took to barrelling down the hills of Ponsonby's Western Park, scattering dog walkers, dogs, pedestrians and families, all of whom had a legitimate right to be there.

These sad old farts were clearly not ready for real mountains, but they were quite happy to practise getting the hang of their new-fangled machines wherever was most convenient for them - and bugger everybody else who happened to be around.

Don't get me wrong - I'm sympathetic to all those going through mid-life crises. Hell, I wouldn't be running a freaking marathon if I wasn't in the grip of one myself.

And I fully understand the sanctimony involved in taking up exercise in one's 40s.

Converts are always the worst zealots. I jog along as dawn is breaking on Saturday morning, applauding myself for having the willpower and mental fortitude to be out pounding the pavements while most of the population is still lying in bed asleep, the only pounding going on being the pounding of their hungover brains inside their skulls.

I breathe in fresh air and think of the millions of health dollars that could be saved if only more New Zealanders got off their arses and did some exercise.

We early-morning joggers canter along, cocooned in self-congratulation - but although we're delusional, we're not so delusional that we think cars will stop for us if we cross the road without looking.

Joggers know smug self-congratulation will not protect you from speeding cars, and cyclists, particularly middle-aged male cyclists, need to learn they can't take over the tarmac, no matter how superior they feel to the general population.

It's great that you're 45 and 103kg and you've discovered cycling. Truly. It's better than having a cardiac infarction in the prime of your life. It's marvellous that you can afford a $2000 bike. But it doesn't mean that you and your mates can ride where you like, when you like and how you like. Riding four abreast is illegal. So is hanging on to the back of vehicles to get a good start away from the lights.

And I would have thought that the word footpath would have been a clue as to who they're for. Why is it that the only time cyclists don't ride on the footpath is when there's a cycle lane marked out for them? And how come young boys on dunger bikes, without a stretch of Lycra between them, know more about the road rules and how to cycle safely and considerately than men four times their age?

The worst of it is that although bad attitudes might be matched between cyclists and motorists, a collision between a bike and a vehicle is an uneven fight.

I would hate to be responsible for injuring another - whether it was my fault or not wouldn't matter. Arrogance and inconsideration can be found among all road users and cyclists would do well to remember that respect is a two-way street.