An Irishman's Diary

I heard a man on radio saying that, thanks to two major snow events in the same year, our extreme-weather driving skills have become much improved. Motorists are enhancing the grip of their cars via such things as “tyre socks”, or the placement of sandbags in boots. And for those of us relying mainly on two-wheel transport to get around Dublin during the freeze, this news is doubly welcome.

Extreme-weather cycling skills have also improved, but perhaps not so dramatically. I haven’t seen any bicycle tyre-socks anywhere, and putting sandbags on a carrier is still not really practicable. So as soon as a snow-bound cyclist meets a hill and has to stand up out of the saddle for increased pedal-power, the back wheel tends to skid, with alarming results.

Add to this the fact that the only place you can safely cycle, often, is the middle of the road, where the surface is level and the snow compacted. Then add the occasional violent digressions a cyclist makes when, for example, being hit by a snowball. And all things considered, it’s just as well that at least some drivers are improving their vehicle control.

What is it about cyclists, by the way, that makes us such a magnet for snowball throwers? Oh, I don’t have to ask, really. I know perfectly well what it is.

A person cycling in snow offers that irresistible combination of (a) a human victim and (b) a human victim who can’t make sudden U-turns and engage in hot pursuit. Moreover, being a (slow) moving target, the cyclist also offers a test of throwing skills which, while not especially challenging, is still a lot more satisfying than aiming at a tree.

I observed this close-up the other night while cycling home along James’s Street. Most such assailants at least have the decency to hit you from behind, so that the impact is a surprise. But as I weaved unsteadily along (the weaving being part involuntary and part a tactic to evade snipers), I spotted a small gurrier just ahead and across the road, lining me up for a full frontal.

He was 25 yards away at the moment of launch, so there was plenty of time to watch the arc of his throw. To wit, I noted that he had aimed two or three feet in front of me. So that, had I braked suddenly, the missile would have sailed harmlessly into the pavement, making the thrower look silly.

But of course, as the cunning little villain had calculated, I couldn’t brake. Instead I had to continue serenely into the snowball’s path, to his great amusement. It was a near bulls-eye, too: a direct hit to the neck-shoulder area, with the resultant shrapnel blast sending shards of ice under my shirt collar (memo to self: must buy scarf).

In all mental re-runs of the incident, of course, I neatly caught the snowball just before it hit. Then, in one devastatingly swift movement, I hurled it back at the thrower’s grinning face with such a force and accuracy that it later necessitated his removal to the nearby hospital to have his larynx defrosted.

But unfortunately, in real life, such a manoeuvre would have required the balancing skills of a Mongolian horseman. As it was, I did well just to stay on the bike.

It could have been worse. Taking a short-cut through the streets behind Guinness’s the same day, I turned a corner to see a whole phalanx of snowballers up ahead, mounted on a wall. It was like running into one of Tom Barry’s flying columns, lying in wait for Black and Tans. And clearly, it was cars they were there to ambush.

Even so, I feared the prospect of a cyclist wobbling past at five miles an hour might be too much of a temptation to pass up, even if he waved a white handkerchief. So I took evasive action: turning the bike with some of the alacrity of a Mongolian horseman and opting for a long cut instead.

One consolation of this weather for cyclists is that it appears to have delayed the full implementation of Operation Freeflow, which by now would normally see gardaí standing at every junction in Dublin directing traffic.

A side-effect of this initiative is, for the month of December, cyclists are miraculously transformed into law-abiding road users, who stop at red lights and wait patiently until they turn green (the lights, that is, not the cyclists – although in sub-zero temperatures it can be both) before proceeding.

As usual, I would like to reassure my cycling readers that it’s not you (or indeed I) we’re talking about here. It goes without saying that we always obey the law. It’s the other cyclists I mean, the ones who not only have to start observing traffic lights in December, but to pretend that this is how they always behave, and that it’s nothing to do with the 23-year-old Garda in the middle of the road. I believe their sense of embarrassment on such occasions can be excruciating.

Another consequence of the snow, meanwhile, is that fewer cyclists seem to be using the footpaths. This will be welcomed by pedestrians who, based on the evidence, have not upgraded their extreme-weather skills as much the rest of us. Then again, the many slips and slides one sees are perhaps not so much a reflection on walkers as on the state of the pavements. Which may also explain why cyclists are staying off the latter. For once, it’s safer on the road.