I am a middle-aged man on a bicycle. I wear Lycra. According to the mainstream media, I’m a free-loading, red-light dodging, unregistered road warrior cruising on expensive cycle paths that would be better redesigned as traffic lanes.
Yet every day I cycle, people smile at me. Tradies in utes lean out the window and give me the thumbs up. The other day a young woman stopped me and asked if she could take my photo. When I pause for the obligatory coffee midway through my ride, it’s not uncommon for other diners to approach me, their faces beaming. When I share the footpath with pedestrians, they always make room for me after I sound my bell. Most of them grin and wave.
