The triumphant scenes surrounding Le Grand Départ were only the beginning. Following the enormous success of the Tour de France over the weekend, London was perfectly primed for acyclingrenaissance. And so it came to pass that millions converged on the centre of the capital yesterday intent to continue the party. And Mayor's Ken's two-wheeled metamorphosis rolled on.
By eight o'clock the streets of Westminster were three- or four-deep with expectant spectators, all intent on reaching their chosen vantage point as quickly as possible. They'd come from right across London and beyond, even as far as the leafy lanes of Kent. Many had brought their own packed lunch and a newspaper, intent on spending a full day in the capital. Pedestrians thronged the pavements, almost as if it were the normal Monday morning rush hour. They stood expectantly by the kerbside, and they stared with eager anticipation along the street.
"The cyclists are coming! said City commuter Charlie Wentworth. "I'll definitely be looking out for the cyclists!"
And then they appeared, speeding round a corner in the far distance. The peloton of pedallers came ever closer, zipping down the white line in the centre of the road. Some were dressed in full lycra, others in fluorescent jackets, but all wore protective streamlined helmets. Most carried a rucksack on their back containing a laptop or some other work-a-day essential. They stormed forward, reaching speeds of up to ten miles per hour, as if no force on earth could stop them.
Each bike shared the roadspace with an unofficial outrider. Some were accompanied by a giant lorry, and deftly avoided tumbling beneath its chassis. Others sped alongside a fifty foot long bendy bus, just inches away from its rumbling wheels. Yet more ran the gauntlet of a black London cab, engaging in merry banter with the driver as they cut in front of his bonnet. Many a friendly arm-waving gesture was seen. The crowd scattered as the cyclists drew nearer.
It was fortunate that all traffic restrictions had been lifted. If a quick dash across the pavement was required, the cyclists crossed it with impunity. One-way streets were disregarded, if the designated route demanded it. And every traffic light had been switched off for the day, or so it seemed. Red lights were ignored as cyclists took every opportunity to negotiate their way through the pack. Because, for the successful Tour rider intent on reaching their destination, not a single second must be wasted.
"I'm hoping to earn the yellow jersey," said keen biker Martin Cross. "That'll mean I can ride through amber lights without being arrested."
The steady stream of passing cyclists continued for a good few hours. Some pedestrians complained that inadequate crossing points had been provided, but on a day when the cyclist was king this seemed somewhat unimportant. On they rushed to their individual finishing lines in offices, factories and schools. And then they locked up their trusty steeds with sturdy padlocks, ready for the return journey later in the afternoon.
It's a cycling extravaganza every day in London. We don't need a pack of beefy-thighed Frenchmen to fill our streets with sweaty peddlers. We can do that ourselves. But maybe something changed in London over the weekend. Maybe there'll be more of us out crouching low and gripping handlebars in the future. A fitter, healthier London of spokes-men and spokes-women might now have arrived. But not for me, sorry. I'll still be standing on the pavement, keeping well out of your way.
The triumphant scenes surrounding Le Grand Départ were only the beginning. Following the enormous success of the Tour de France over the weekend, London was perfectly primed for a cycling renaissance. And so it came to pass that millions converged on the centre of the capital yesterday intent to continue the party. And Mayor's Ken's two-wheeled metamorphosis rolled on.
