A case of peloton dysfunction

Lance, my hero

What got me fascinated and interested in cycling was the story of one man, Lance Armstrong, he recovered from testicular cancer and went on to win 7 consecutive Tour de France titles. That was the story, there is life after cancer.

When I then had life-threatening cancer in 2009, after months of denial, at the point of acceptance, I began to believe there is a life for me beyond my ordeal. That Lance Armstrong was then found out to be a drug cheat and stripped of his titles is unfortunate, but that is not the story that resonated with us, cancer survivors.

Indeed, one can die with great integrity and be eulogised quite ordinarily, or die having achieved notoriety, ignominy, and even disgrace, but with a life to live there is some opportunity for redemption if it comes. If it does not, you are still there for the ones you love and still love you and that for me is an extraordinary story. Lance Armstrong as a person remains a hero.

Medicine for the race

As the world unravelled around him, the mantel fell to the UK to retrieve the reputation of cycling from the dust. In track and road cycling, at the Olympics and peloton Grand Tours, cyclists from the UK took golds and titles, we were cheering from the rafters and men rose from their knee to become knights of the realm.

Great men like those of old, men of chivalry rescuing damsels from distress. Erm, well, there was a Dr Richard Freeman, the team doctor meant to see to the medical needs of the cycling teams and in his position would have been able to acquire medicaments to treat all sorts of conditions. Saddle soreness, for example, and anything in that region that might need attention.

Challenges of manhood

He however highlighted one condition about a male head coach that drew recriminations and rebuttals. You can challenge a man about many things, but not his manhood and its efficacy at performance and surely not in a public forum. Yet, Dr Freeman will have us believe that he ordered 30 sachets of testosterone to help Shane Sutton with his erectile dysfunction. I am a tyro, but I thought you got Viagra or Kamagra for that, but what do I know?

Anyway, with that order comes the possible taint of the achievements of the British cyclist, though, meanwhile, Dr Freeman, free with words, free with the truth has been freed from medical practice. Sadly, he might have set the peloton in dysfunction.

Night cycling

The nostalgia of food

The fact is nostalgia runs thick when you have left home for another place. The degree to which you might feel nostalgia might however differ for all sorts of people.

Whilst I have no particular inclination to return to Nigeria, I do enjoy Nigerian food that I either get to cook for myself or order from the gradually improving Obalade Suya in Amsterdam South which seems to have exceeded the African Kitchen in organisation, sophistication and sense of service by far – they even have a website.

Also there is fare from England that you cannot find in Amsterdam supermarkets, from the ordinary things like sliced white bread, through certain cereals and then pork pies amongst other goods – teas, biscuits, puddings, soups to name but a few.

The British shop (Absolutely British) in Amsterdam moved to Amstelveen over a year ago and I usually get there by tram and metro, a journey taking about 45 minutes.

Getting the bike out

This time, I thought I would get on my bicycle and ride out there, the estimated distance using Google Maps was about 11 kilometres from my home but that was using the pedestrian calculation, the journey by car could not be afforded bicycles and the directions by bicycles have not been fully integrated.

So, I thought I had to go due West, then due South keeping a general idea of Amsterdam’s cartography in my head, I did not really miss a turn though I could have made my journey more efficient.

I avoided a mishap where a car that had passed the traffic lights but had been caught in a tailback that was at an intersection, the road cleared in front of the car just when the traffic lights gave me right of way and it was just half a metre from broken bones or a dented bonnet.

The journey took just short of an hour and the ride was leisurely enough not to leave me panting and I stocked up on home goods.

The sleight of lights

On my return journey I got to a sign pointing to Amsterdam Centre but in opposite directions, to the right I could have a river-view ride with less vehicular traffic but it was getting dark.

I pedalled gaining a rhythm that was not too exhausting but met with my pet peeves again and again, the lawless cyclists of Amsterdam.

I would that the police conducted more checks on cyclists at traffic lights who ignore the signs and most especially the ones that ride at night without lights.

It was bad enough that you could not see oncoming bicycles approaching at speed or those coming up from behind so as to take them into consideration, then there were the ones in front who rode oblivious of other road users without high-visibility clothing.

Rules for cyclists broken

The worst situation was with cyclists riding up the wrong way without giving way to those who had right-of-way and I met up with many as I cursed under my breath at the irresponsibility and carelessness of the riders.

I remember that it was my care and concern from a lady cyclist in front of me on a foggy night without lights that held me up the day I got beaten up by drink-and-drug fuelled Moroccans.

It is utterly unacceptable but in Amsterdam cyclists ride as if there are no rules, no laws and they had right of way in all circumstances against cars and public transport.

There is this underlying vice of impatience that pushes them on, they just cannot been seen to stop but some to get stopped and wheeled away, then between the feelings of sympathy and indifference you realise that no matter how fast you are, you are not going beyond your destination – so why the rush?

Lame game

Even I

Coming to 40 years of age, one is at times deluded into thinking; all that could be seen has been seen such that one is hardly ever lost for words. Generally, one is hardly ever lost for words.

However, it was with utter incredulity that I viewed a clip of a young cyclist who was being chased down by a car, knocked off his bike and when he took to running was run over by the car.

Well, that is unbelievable in the least, it would have me calling the police in no time, taking photos with my mobile phone and recording everything that would lead to definitely getting adequate and speedy redress.

The occupants of that car should and would justifiably rot in jail if there was any justice in this world. Well, I do wonder if there is any justice in this world at times - Selah! [A biblical punctuation in the Psalms signifying pausing for thought].

As word would have it, someone got fined and had 5 penalty points applied to their driver's license further along the line 10,000 pounds ended up in someone’s account with a statement of utter regret - you will note, jail never featured in the whole episode.

Going over the detail again

The occupants of the car were the police, the evidence of being chased down and run over was recorded from a police helicopter during the a supposed drug raid that had them chasing after an entirely innocent man of colour in England in 1999.

The cyclist was at the receiving end of the fine, penalty and compensation after 5 years; however, for 6 years the police used every sleight of hand to prevent the publishing of the footage of that utterly despicable activity of law enforcement.

The reason this issue is in the news is because that footage finally saw the light of day having been extricated through the vagaries of the Freedom of Information Act, the police having run of out the state security excuses of concealing information that portrays them in the worst of light.

One is almost at  point of sympathising with the police in those circumstances, we cannot afford to have civil society knowing that the police could be that reckless - even that does not begin to describe my pique. Basically, we need to be able to retain confidence in law enforcement, but NOT at any cost.

Closing comments

The body of evidence developing from this story and many others that inform my opinion can be summed up as follows; whilst there is a case for running away from the police if you are an ethnic minority most especially if you are innocent and blameless to escape the privation of getting beaten up, it appears if you do run you might suffer the greater privation of losing your life.

Our cyclist escaped with sufficient injuries to scar him for life, Jean Charles de Menezes unfortunately did not, apparently, and neither was he running from the police.

This is all regrettable, more so regrettable when those who are meant to protect turn against those they are meant to protect.

Reference

BBC NEWS | England | South Yorkshire | Crash footage released to victim:

BBC NEWS | Politics | Police chief's apology rejected: