The superfluous life of indicators
It’s now my pet hate (this week at least). INDICATORS. Or rather the lack of using them. I mentioned it a little while back, high on a giddy cocktail of Twix and strong coffee and coming over all sarky. But it’s taken on new dimensions, this obsession of mine. I want to go accounting, placing a little tick in a box when a driver employs the indicators to execute a turn and placing a cross in another when he or she doesn’t. This would be tricky of course. Counter to those gender clichés I think I’m a reasonably good multi tasker (I’m playing the glockenspiel, doing intervals on the turbo trainer and painting with a brush in my mouth whilst I type this) but I’m not sure I can cycle no hands whilst clutching a clipboard and making decent notes. Some may even construe that type of activity as dangerous and I have no desire to give militant motorists opportunity to moan at cyclists (I’m aiming for quite the reverse). No, the clipboard thing is just not sensible.
But in my world of anecdotal evidence the roads are definitely populated with non-indicator users. One minute you’re riding behind a car in steady traffic and the next you’re slamming on the anchors whilst the driver swoops to the left like the Red Baron in a dogfight. My particular favourite is red lights and rat runs. Up ahead the driver spots the changing colours and reads into them a new meaning. Green = good. Amber = duck to the left and b*llock down the side street to join the main carriageway again in about half a mile. This morning a driver executed a particularly spectacular manoeuvre. Riding along Newport Road at around 18 miles per hour, a driver whizzes past me, spots the lights are on the turn, then ducks left in the motorised equivalent of a side step. No time to employ those indicators (or wait for that matter)! No siree. This of course, is the tip of the hazard warning sign. I could bore you to tears about the driver on Maindy Road yesterday evening or the steady queues of non-indicating traffic at the roundabout on Llandaff Road. No point though – I’m sure you get the picture. Incidentally, I haven’t bothered to look up what it says in the highway code. I’m sure it has sage advice, but so does the Hitch-hikers guide to the galaxy and nobody follows that at Cern.
Brrruuuuuuhhhhhh <thereapeutic shake of body and stretch of arms> it’s out of my system now. Rant over. I’ll be back on the bike at lunchtime, sans clipboard.
If you spot glaring examples of non-indicator use, do what I do; shake head, scowl, mutter under breath and move on. Classic Chevy Tail fin by James Yellen (image available here). Hazard sign by me. Print for nowt.