I can’t hide from it any more. I travel to work in the post daybreak murk of a big city that would rather see me dead than safe on its roads. I bypass the main streets and opt for the lesser road paths and trails that take me the 4km to work. Not enough, nowhere near it.
I pass the short section of cobbles that rattles the bitter coffee into my veins.
I pass the muddy off-camber turn behind the big tree with inappropriate tyres.
I drag my brakes around the fast corner aware that the lady with the Dalmatian won’t be far.
I nod at the lady with the Dalmatian, we both know this beautiful animal doesn’t worry about the daylight.
I ride the muddy path by the old bowling green.
I pop out to the road. 4.5 mins down.
Two mins at the traffic light. Before the death run.
Two schools. Several shops. Early morning drivers not looking for a cyclist.
Another set of lights before the stench of lasts nights curry house effluence assails my nose.
Left. Right. Pavement. Bang on the door.
10 mins home to work.
Just. Not. Enough.