I had to give up serious cycling in 1994 when my right knee decided to let me down. I'd commuted to work every day, come rain, snow or shine, from Loughton to Walthamstow, a distance of about seven miles each way, for about five years. The journey took in a considerable stretch of the North Circular down to the Crooked Billet roundabout. For a change, I'd occasionally come in via Walthamstow dog track from Chingford. The ride always had me negotiating big rush-hour jams and several tricky junctions (look at a map!). I never jumped a red light (occasionally, to save time, I'd dismount and cross the road instead). I could usually sweep past the long queues on the outside and my journey time was predictable day to day to within a couple of minutes. In all that time my only altercation was with a bloke in a car in Loughton who hadn't seen me and who forced me to mount the pavement to get out of his way. He had religious posters in his car windows and one of those fish symbols stuck on his boot lid. He stopped to apologise, but, as he'd almost deprived a young wife of her husband and two little kids of their dad, I offered to stuff his effing crucifixes up his holier-than-thou bottom. After our move to Cornwall in 1986 I commuted from our house near Bude to Holsworthy, a daily distance of 22 miles, every day, on my good old Claud Butler Majestic. I never missed a single day due to weather, only "borrowing" our car on the rare days I had a streaming cold or something. I once did the eleven miles home in 29 minutes (hey, with almost 500 feet of climbing) with an easterly gale behind me! I became well known as that bloke that everyone on that road saw and waved to every day. In 1990 I cycled 6000 miles, adding rides for sheer pleasure on to my commuting miles. I did a 100-mile charity ride that summer in Cornwall and Devon (we cared not a jot about the hills!), and I rode the 320 miles from my mum's in Lancashire back to Bude in four days, staying at youth hostels. I've been trying to get back to some gentle riding again, bad bones permitting, and I've found that getting up on me bike is still very much in my blood. I did have occasion, in the late 80s, to cycle in London a lot, and there was no animosity then that I could discern between motorists and cyclists. You mustn't break the rules of the road on a bike but you do have to look after yourself. Fast is safe on a bike, and you must ride well out from the gutter. If it isn't safe for someone to pass you, you have the right to prevent them from doing so by occupying your rightful space. Most times, a cyclist is in a far better position than a motorist to decide what's safe and what isn't as there's far more at stake for them. There is no room for arrogance or bad manners on the part of cyclists, but, equally, motorists must accept that the bloke or blokess in the saddle is taking up much less road room than they are, they are not polluting the planet and they are flesh and blood unprotected by a tin overcoat. The "I pay road tax and you don't" argument is entirely bogus. That situation is engineered by the government, not cyclists, so choose your target a little better. I wouldn't mind betting that many of those self-same people who try to make that case would object if I told them to get their bloody dog off the pavement because it doesn't pay council tax. As for cycling on pavements, well I'd say it depends on the pavement. A good, wide sidewalk might have plenty of room for both cyclists and pedestrians. We have many miles of lovely trails in Cornwall where it's cheerfully understood by all users that bikes and walkers have equal precedence. Good manners must rule and pedestrians must come first (they're the least able to get out of the way quickly). Whatever happened to common sense?