I was left utterly speechless, frozen in disbelief. It wasn't the near miss with a car, or even the reckless pedestrian, but the sheer, unwarranted rage directed at me simply for existing on two wheels.
This wasn’t an isolated incident. It’s a recurring undercurrent of aggression I’ve encountered as a cyclist in London, a city I’ve navigated by bike for over two decades. The hostility feels particularly pointed, a chilling reminder of the vulnerability that comes with being a woman and a mother in public spaces.
Cycling has always been a lifeline for me – a convenient, efficient, and invigorating way to experience the city. But that freedom has been repeatedly challenged by moments of genuine fear. I’ve been knocked off my bike, narrowly avoided collisions with carelessly opened car doors, and subjected to a barrage of verbal abuse.
One particularly jarring experience involved being thrown onto the bonnet of a car after a pedestrian stepped into my path. When I dared to ask him to be more careful, he lunged at me, attempting to kick me. The scrapes healed, but the feeling of violation lingered, a stark reminder of unpredictable danger.
Despite these experiences, I wanted my children to share my love of cycling. They started in bike seats, then trailers, and now confidently ride alongside me. I’ve instilled in them a deep understanding of road safety, emphasizing positioning, protective gear, and anticipating the actions of drivers.
Yet, even with all the precautions, they’ve faced harassment. A man once screamed obscenities at them for riding on the pavement during a dangerous section of road, deeply upsetting them. The thought of my children being subjected to such aggression fills me with a protective fury.
There are moments of pure joy, of course. Weekend rides along quiet country lanes, pointing out blossoming trees, and the shared freedom of the open road are precious memories. Early morning rides, before the city awakens, offer a sense of peaceful solitude.
But the darkness changes everything. Cycling alone at night, as a woman, is terrifying. I alter my route in the winter months, avoiding unlit parks where I fear being ambushed. It’s a constant calculation of risk, a weighing of convenience against potential harm.
I’m always vigilant, scanning for potential threats. But as a woman, there’s an added layer of anxiety – the possibility of verbal abuse, aggression, or even physical assault. It’s a burden no one should have to carry simply for choosing a healthy and sustainable mode of transportation.
I shouldn’t be shouted at for cycling. My children shouldn’t be subjected to hateful words. The London Cycling Campaign’s findings are alarming: nine out of ten women report experiencing verbal abuse while cycling, with 63% facing it at least monthly. Over a fifth have stopped cycling altogether because of it.
This isn’t just about cycling; it’s about fundamental respect and safety. We need more than just education; we need empathy. A simple acknowledgement that we deserve to share the roads without fear. Think twice before reacting with anger – basic courtesy is the very least we deserve.
