Rules for Cyclists

My completely warranted and entirely rational hatred of road cyclists is no secret.

A group of people more deserving of public hatred I have not encountered, and this includes taxi drivers (at least they provide a service), Catholic Priests (at least not every single one of them is a cunt – Father Peter for the win) and cold callers…

OK, I can’t back that one up. I assume when you hang up your headset at 5pm you pull on your spandex and hit the road in an effort to prove to the rest of the world you contribute precisely zero to the advancement of humanity, both in the office and on the road.

I thought a set of rules for cyclists might be appropriate, but then quickly remembered cyclists care nothing for rules, and operate only in their own self-absorbed existence.

I continued anyway, in the hopes that maybe one “pad-poes” might read this and obtain enlightenment, but then remembered cyclists can’t read.

Yet still I persevered, because that’s the type of bloke I am, and that’s how much I hate cyclists:

1. If you want to visit a restaurant; climb in your car, catch an Uber, or take a nice stroll. Do not seat yourself amongst ‘ordentlike mense’ with sweat dripping everywhere, camel toes and ‘braai-packs’ on display, after having taken a ride from whatever godforsaken village you demons originate from.
2. No one owes you a fucking thing. Not free water or coffee from the local restaurant, not more respect than would be given to any other road user.
3. Make a decision. Are you a road user, or are you a pedestrian? You cannot be both. Giving the middle finger to innocent motorists who had no way to anticipate you suddenly wanted to cut across from left and use the pedestrian crossing is highly symbolic of the type of people you are.
4. In line with the above: hand signals. Fucking use them. All motorists use their indicators, unless they are from Cape Town.
5. Clarens Drive is not big enough for cars and cyclists. Use your version of what others would call a brain. You cannot simultaneously yammer about a 1.5m passing distance (stickers and all) then climb on a road that does not allow for this. You have an entire country full of beautiful roads on which to piss off unsuspecting people. At least do it from a safe passing distance.
6. There are absolutely no legal circumstances that allow you to practice your “sport” on a national road. For the exact same reasons pedestrians and cattle are not allowed there either. At least the cattle that stray across the N2 have manners and are decidedly more intelligent.
7. Single Fucking File. If I can force one incredibly basic concept into your peanut-sized brains: one behind the other!
8. Understand that if you stuff up by ignoring the rules of the road and collide with my vehicle, I still have to waste my time in court explaining how a group of Neanderthals riding three abreast on a national highway was not supposed to be there in the first place, even though I was travelling the speed limit and stayed in my lane.
9. The click-click shoes. Fuck oaks. In the restaurant, in the mall, in the supermarket. Pack some flip flops for fuck’s sake. Or go to the supermarket barefoot; you have no class in any event.
10. And lastly, again, for the second time, I really need to try and impress this concept for the peanut-brained imbecile who might have found an AI tool to read this article out loudly and slowly: Single. Fucking. File!