Column | Cyclist on the sidewalk

An exuberant sun was shining early that morning (where else), when I walked home satisfied with a full shopping bag. Nothing seemed to stand in the way of a beautiful day, annoyances and conflicts were there for others today. Summer had finally started, now peace in Ukraine, then we could take it again.

Suddenly a cyclist swerved at full speed from the street behind me onto the sidewalk and flashed past me in the narrow space between me and the house fronts. I was shocked and looked at him indignantly. He maintained his high speed, continued on the sidewalk for another fifty yards, past an oncoming passerby, then turned back onto the road and moments later parked his bike in the bike rack off the side of the street.

It was a middle-aged man in blue shorts who, like me, had been shopping and was now walking to his house. I still felt the shock in my legs and wondered if this distant neighbor should not be called to order.

There was something to be said for that. He had endangered not only that passerby and me, but also residents of the neighboring houses if they had come out at that time. Moreover, the growing phenomenon of cyclists on sidewalks has annoyed me for some years now. They cause a type of danger that you do not take into account and of which you can therefore become an unsuspecting victim.

I decided to take courageous action and quickened my pace. Unfortunately, the distance between me and the perpetrator was great – about fifty meters. I could only stop him by yelling, which I never like to do in public. You soon get into a public commotion, with onlookers hanging out of the windows and yapping dogs who start pooping on the sidewalk in fright. In addition, there was the heat that kept me from a Usain Bolt-esque sprint – needed to catch up with the man in time.

Stay calm, I had promised myself. Do not ask, “Have you lost your mind?” But inquire with interest: “Do you do this often?” Or, “Why the hurry?” But I noticed that my anger subsided with each subsequent step. Relativistic thoughts appeared inconveniently. What are you worrying about? That man happened to be in a hurry – that can happen to anyone. Perhaps he is otherwise a very nice, polite man, especially if he wears long trousers; those shorts make the older man more boyish, more gruff, he feels that life can still hold certain promises.

I hesitated, slowed down, paused—the man had already disappeared into the row of houses—then turned around. It was better this way. I would run into him at a neighborhood drink, then I could rebuke him with a joke.

At home I told my wife in scents and colors (those bluish pants) about my experience. “Very sensible,” she judged, “such an argument can get out of hand and what good is it?”

Still, something gnawed. Had I been wise or cowardly—or both? Later that day I still got into a fight, with my own wife. There seem to be more marriages in which that sometimes happens, but in this case I mainly blame the man in the bluish pants I let go unpunished.