I was a proud partaker of the Sydney v Melbourne debate – till I made the transfer myself. Over three years, me, a proud Victorian, slowly warmed to Sydney’s charms: the sunny seashores, the character, the abundance of dog-friendly pubs.
With one exception.
This metropolis despises bicycles. Why?
Why has it been designed, and redesigned, in such a approach that always the one possibility is to trip helplessly on a shared pedestrian pathway plagued by potholes, hoping you don’t crash into a toddler or veer right into a tree?
Why does Sydney, with only a few exceptions, refuse to construct particular bike lanes? Why am I continuously studying op-eds about Sydneysiders’ deep-seated concern of shedding parking areas or – God forbid – making our roads extra accessible?
In Melbourne, I might trip effortlessly from one aspect of the town to the opposite, the wind in my hair, waving good-naturedly at my fellow residents. I might float down Melbourne’s bicycle freeway of Canning Road, ethereal, serene.
But in Sydney, I’ve had encounters which have crammed me with a deep-seated rage, which have compelled me to repeat profanities I might by no means have imagined potential.
I’ve had {couples} yelling at me after I ring my bell, canine homeowners huffing dramatically when I’ve a near-miss with their pug, drivers wind down their home windows to screech out if I dare share the highway with their Commodores.
I’ve tried an 18-minute trip to work and brought an hour as a result of there have been so few bike lanes I saved getting misplaced.
I’ve even been yelled at on the Glebe foreshore – theoretically one of many extra pleasant locations to mount a bicycle.
If I can’t trip there, the place can I trip? What on this concrete jungle is left?
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