Why are some cyclists so sanctimonious?

Some of my best friends are cyclists, which I suppose means I should have learned by now never to say anything that can be perceived as being remotely critical of cyclists. Militant cyclists increasingly make religious zealots look laid back.

In that fashion, the cycling Taliban were ‎on my tail when I tweeted on Thursday that it took me 14 minutes to cross Southwark Bridge on the way to the airport by taxi on Thursday morning. As Mayors of London, Boris Johnson and Sadiq Khan, and Ken “never mentions Hitler” Livingstone, introduced a lot of cycle lanes. Gridlock doesn’t begin to describe the results of what it has done to London’s roads.

I tweeted something about it and thought little more of it.
Having made it to the plane, and landed in Italy (interviewing the speakers at an academic conference) I tuned out of Twitter.‎ What a joy! The city of Florence, chianti and no Twitter!

Going back on the infernal machine, it is apparent that I have committed a thought crime. They’re still going, 36 hours later, the cycling Taliban, shouting about traffic lights and idiot car drivers.

One cycling fundamentalist called me a dimwit (that’ll win me round to his view) and others demanded to know what I was doing in a taxi. Sitting with my suitcase. Doing work‎.

Getting a black cab is still legal, just about, so why do we have to justify it? I barely use black taxis, but when I do I am reminded (by the drivers) that their trade provides jobs for people who pay taxes. In Britain we’re in the process of eliminating such activities, of course, thanks to the vandals of big tech – such as Uber – let loose by Tory politicians who should have known better.

Cycling is terrific and to be encouraged, and the safety of cyclists is important, but am I wrong to detect a creeping fanaticism on the part of its most fervent advocates? They remind me of the political correctness crowd. In the name of supposed virtue, alternative views and heresies must be shouted down and even shut down. That always ends well… as they found out with Savonarola in Florence. He was hung and then incinerated in the end. We’re not quite there yet, but give it time.