Critical Mass is great for what it stands for and for what it achieves, if only briefly.
For about an hour at the same time every month ( first Friday for us Birmingham folk ) a bunch of cyclists meet at a pre-designated spot, then ride out around their towns, wherever they may be, from London to New York, all over.
The plan is simple. To cycle around your city and generally take over, which isn’t really that hard considering there are usually a whole bunch of you sometimes riding 4, 5, 6 abreast on a single lane.
There was loads of us so as you would guess there were car horns aplenty, as was abusive language, some CM partakers tended to wave back at them or smile at them, I noticed one guy trying to explain himself to the red faced passenger of a Black Saab, I was thinking “dude forget it, just swear at him or something”, while another simply honked his ( handlebar mounted ) air horn, I say “honked”, I mean this thing would be at home on a war ship it was that loud.
There were all manner of bicycles there, road bikes, track bikes, conversions, mountain bikes, strange looking hybrids and most notably something that looked like a miniature Harley Davidson sans engine. Poor choice for a ride out me thinks. The gentleman riding it ( or attempting to ride ) at times looked like he was in serious danger of being involved in a road traffic accident, bless him. I recall myself looking around on 6 ways island at the top of Broad street and seeing this guy on his low rider, right at the back absolutely surrounded by cars and thinking… “Problem”. Apparently this guy has got a perfectly good road bike at home. Crazy. well at least he had a helmet on!
We rode all around town, pi**ing off car drivers, chatting to one another along the way, having things thrown at us, being laughed at and sometimes even swore at.
Anyway I had great fun, I did but all along I just wanted to rip, like a dog on a leash in a park I was raring to go. You see the pace was pretty slow, I would say brisk walking speed perhaps even jogging speed but for some it was not speed enough.
Upon being led out to the top of Broad street facing an empty three lane ( one way ) road down to Bristol street, Myself, Fin and Josh decided to Drag. “First one to the lights!” I hollered over… then “3, 2, 1, Go!” Like greyhounds out of the traps we were… gone! For a second there I thought I was a racing Keirin. Now I am not going to say who won, because it was me but seriously, it was… Rad.
If you didn’t manage to make it out this time maybe I will see you at the next one… maybe not. For those who just want to rip, make sure you get to Critical Thrash! later in March.
