Daring to be Different

It’s time for a celebration of sorts. Enough to warrant sharing both a piece of almond torte AND a chocolate covered flapjack with a friend who has joined me from another table.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him after a while, feeling both curious and a little guilty about my limited attempts at conversation; as is the ubiquitous nature of café laptop culture.

“Me? Nothing,” he replies, looking content to people watch out of the enormous café window. This momentarily leaves me wishing that I had the ability to enjoy doing ‘nothing’ more often. Without, that is, feeling like I’ve fallen off the proverbial roundabout into the abyss.

“Actually, I’ve just worked out that I’m having to be a bit of a social activist,” I blurt out, both surprising myself and waking him from his reverie.

He looks a little confused, “You mean like now, when you go to a café and you’re being friendly with other people?” he asks.

I wish! And barely stifle a chuckle, as I am certainly not being attentive enough to warrant such compliments. Wouldn’t it be rather wonderful if being an activist and being sociable were one and the same thing? We could mend society’s broken ways by simply turning up at these random gatherings. A few well-chosen words and a couple of slices of cake later, buzzing with caffeine and ‘Hey Presto’!

In contrast, I discover that an activist is defined as ‘someone who helps promote social or political change’. Odd, isn’t it, how the very same individuals limited by obstacles are also frequently left to attempt to remove them by themselves? In my case, it has taken rather too long because of an overdeveloped sense of what ‘responsible’ people should or shouldn’t do and how they are supposed to behave. Not that I believe in that rubbish anymore. It’s just that my internal programming hasn’t caught up with the rest of me yet.

Yesterday, in way of explanation, I turned up at the NEC for the ‘Cycling Show’ feeling less than fabulous (understatement of the month) but determined. There I proceeded to lower the saddle and to use my bike as a mobility aid.

“And why was that particularly radical?” you ask.

Despite bicycle culture in much of Europe making this kind of behaviour acceptable, not so in the UK. Instead, I had to cope with numerous challenges from staff (despite prior phone calls to explain my impending arrival). Each one, regardless of how hostile their approach, was politely presented with a laminated note of explanation provided by my GP. Meanwhile, my Blue Badge was clearly displayed atop a front-mounted bike bag.

I’ve fallen apart many times before when challenged in this way, but this time, I stopped lowering my gaze with embarrassment and confidently made eye contact. And was let through, time and time again. Such breakthroughs can be life-changing!

Accepting numerous stares, glances and expressions of astonishment from the small crowds, I said my numerous “Excuse me’s” and “Thank you’s”, with uncharacteristic confidence. It would be lovely to know how many of these bicycle-savvy people returned home, recounting the odd spectacle of a cycle marked with a blue badge. Challenging people’s perceptions in this way, at least, has the potential to open up a whole new world of possibilities for others like myself. As it was, I got to enjoy a rare degree of mobility in a huge indoor space packed with highly desirable and unnaturally shiny Adonises of the bike world. Incidentally, would YOU have accepted being pushed around in a wheelchair at a bike show as a viable alternative?

If the 2011 census is to be believed, roughly 1 in 20 commuters on bikes in England and Wales is a disabled person. A London based charity ‘Wheels for Wellbeing’ recognises that the majority of disabled cyclists find cycling easier than walking. Many of us use our cycles as a mobility aid, much like a wheelchair or mobility scooter. And a lot of us get by on standard bicycles. We don’t all require adapted versions, incidentally often known as ‘inclusive cycling’.

However, current legislation in the UK does not recognise bicycles used in this way. As a result, we don’t have the same access to many off-road areas that more obvious mobility aid users are afforded. Disabled cyclists are still being asked to ‘get off and walk’ their cycles in non-cycling areas, despite many of them not being able to do so. And thousands of such individuals end up having to choose accessibility over fitness and health, not to mention the considerable cost implications in owning more than one mode of transport.

It took me many years to find ways around this. After a lot of research on the internet, walking on a bicycle remains a grey area. It has been proposed that, as long as both feet are used to walk, neither foot is rested on a peddle and the bicycle is not allowed to freewheel at any point, then this counts as being a ‘pedestrian’ or being ‘on foot’. Certainly, this is what has now been allowed at New Street Station, which otherwise would have considerably restricted my access to train travel.

Later in the afternoon, I’m sitting talking with a couple of friends in one of their homes. “I can’t read anymore, I’m going to fall asleep,” says one of them, who has resorted to reading last week’s blog.

“What, does my writing put you to sleep?” I joke.

“Always does” he replies immediately, unnervingly oblivious to the implications of such an admission.

“Be sure to mention that you’re genetically predisposed to be an activist” points out another friend attempting to redress the situation.

I had better explain. He has put me in mind of an amazing discovery made possible by my brother’s attempt to establish our family tree. It transpires that some of our ancestors (connected with Sir Throckmorton and Coughton Court) were directly involved in the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1865 that ultimately lead to the creation of ‘Bonfire Night’. In effect, I have a personal connection, through time, to this small group of people. They were, in their misdirected way perhaps, attempting to redress issues of injustice and inequality towards the Catholics of those times. It’s a sobering thought to realise that dilemmas connected with the failings of society and of those in power have a way of repeating themselves, ad infinitum.

Finally, I offer fervent apologies to those of you who, like my friend, may have experienced mid-blog lapses in consciousness. I assure you that this was not my intention. Should this ever happen to you, consider my writing as a gift; a drug-free solution (if you will) to sleepless nights, as thanks for your passing interest.