On yer bike, is it!

SAD to say the Velo-City conference in Dublin passed off without me gracing its presence. The small matter of the arrival of my new baby daughter - Reduced Emissions we call her around here - put paid to my cunning plan to have a good rant at those attending. So you lot will have to do.

See, there was a time a few years ago when I was a tediously militant two-wheel road warrior, extolling the virtues of two wheels over four to anyone who would listen, scoffing and sneering at the car-fixated masses, knowing in my heart that no matter how snug and dry motorists were as I struggled through another deluge, I'd always be able to bathe in the warm glow of self-satisfaction while cycling up on the moral high ground.

But now I'm the proud - if infrequent - driver of an old banger and my "One Less Car" bicycle sticker is languishing in a drawer, terrified to come out lest its owner be exposed for his hypocrisy.

Despite selling my soul to the Great Satan, I still cycle most of the time and regard it as a tragedy that only 4 per cent of all journeys in Dublin are by bike. The average in other European cities is 30 per cent.

On the face of it, Dublin should be a hotbed of cycling - it's reasonably compact, practically flat, has a largely temperate climate and a shocking congestion problem.

A survey for Velo-City of Dublin's 10 busiest commuter routes shows bikes travel at an average of 14.6 km/h in rush hour, compared to a pitiful 12.2km/h for cars. Unless you live beyond the M50, you're wasting your time driving.

And, contrary to popular opinion, meteorological records show less than 1 per cent of bike journeys result in a drenching. (The capital's director of traffic Owen Keegan suggested the use of "rainfall avoidance tactics" to further reduce this risk. I can picture it now - thousands of cyclists swerving madly to dodge raindrops . . .)

To top it off, Dublin has over 300 kilometres of cycle lanes. (Admittedly, most are in housing estates on the edge of suburban sprawl, which makes them as useful as boobs on a bull, while those that are in the city are largely stupid, pointless bits of orange asphalt painted alongside main roads. These are invariably annexed as parking spaces by taxi drivers and SUV-driving cretins.

But, despite all the advantages of the habitat, we Dublin cyclists are a dying breed.

I suspect that's largely down to the Irish nouveau riche mentality that regards us as an unwelcome reminder of a time when cars were a luxury owned by the few. I often sense motorists leering at me on my bike from inside the symbols of their new prosperity like I'm broke or a crank. (In truth, I'm a bit of both, but don't tell them that.)

There's also the fact it's ever-so-slightly dangerous, in the same way the universe is ever-so-slightly big. Trucks are the main foe, but they've always been there. So I'm going to blame the pernicious rise of the SUV - many appear specifically designed to cause as much carnage to cyclists as possible - for the decline in cycling in recent years.

If you are broadsided by a car, there's a chance, however slim, you'll be thrown up onto the bonnet to (relative) safety. With an Egowagon, forget it - you're history.

But you can't let that put you off. If you do, that means they've won. And then we're really in trouble.

ON a brighter note, my father found himself at Velo-City. He was so enamoured with the whole experience that he succumbed to a brand new bicycle. (They were flogging them at half-price - canny as canny gets is the aul' fella.)

He's 62 years old, probably hasn't been on a bike for a third of them. He ignored pleas for caution, hopped on and tootled off into the traffic, chuffed with himself. I was fierce proud of him. A new man, so he is.

Let him be an example to us all. On yer bikes . . .