Zen and the art of cyclists

Readers may be aware of my unsuccessful attempt to become a full-blown, road-worthy cyclist. There has recently been a fair bit of public angst, particularly in Sydney, directed at the cyclist/motorist dichotomy, and it’s easy to understand why. Cyclists feel they have ‘every right’ to be treated as equal on the roads to their ozone-eroding inhabitants, and the law backs them up. Motorists feel cheated that the roads paid for with their rego fees are getting clogged up by inconsiderate hippies travelling at 30 kilometres an hour.

On a soon-to-be related topic, some readers may also be aware that I’ve decided to try and be more ‘Zen’ this year, and nothing threatens a Zenned-out motorist quite like a cyclist.

Today, I was tested, but I’m proud to say I was up to the challenge, and my Zen-flag is still waving proudly (no pun intended, although I’m not even sure what the pun could be – it just seems like there should be one).

To help me overcome this and all other cyclist-related anxieties, I have undertaken a particular philosophy that I think many motorists can learn from: I feel sorry for them. It’s a little odd, and not entirely fair to the greener mobiles, but it seems to work. And with this false air of superiority, I’m able to go about my business of Zen, ambivalent to any frustrations about cyclists who block my lane, sneak through red lights, or use my car for support as they wobble up to the intersection, brushing their lycra-clad backside against my windows as they pass.

Or, in today’s example, merging across four lanes of traffic at a blistering 30km/h in an 80 zone to grab a last-minute right-hand turn. But as this Tony Abbott-wannabe shrugged his shoulders and grinned sheepishly at me as I and the cars around me slammed our breaks, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pity for the man, giving me a glowing inner Nirvana that can only come about from sheer human smugness. It wasn’t really his fault, I told myself: the poor fellow has to battle the heat and the honks in wedgie-inducing bike pants, and was probably distracted from the urge to merge because he was thinking up a way to save the depletion of the Southern Blue-Finned Tuna. So I gave a friendly, sympathetic, understanding wave back to my helmet-toting friend, before speeding off with my music up loud and my air-con on full.

Ah, what Zen! Now I see the true meaning of this whole ‘enlightenment’ thing. It’s not about finding peace or raising yourself up at all – all you really have to do is look down on cyclists.

No wonder those Monks are so happy.