COMMENTS on cycling stories in The Examiner usually go one of two ways:

1. People hate cyclists. They are ungrateful. Entitled. Smug.

They take up too much space.

They slow down law-abiding traffic. 

They knowingly flaunt the road rules.

They are a danger to themselves.

2. Cyclists are promoting a clean, healthy and effective mode of transport.

They have every right to share the bitumen.

They are among the most vulnerable road users, yet often fall victim to impatience, unjust abuse, and sometimes deadly inattention from motorists.

I always thought the truth was somewhere inbetween. 

But to be honest, until this week I’d never ridden a bike along a busy road.

What better way to be informed than take an early morning ride up the West Tamar Highway?

​

7.30am: Margaret Street meet up

OUR group of 10 set off on a windy morning from the Church of the Apostles.

The Cycling Tasmania code of conduct recommends groups not exceed 20.

The riders are an older bunch from a range of professions: policemen,  firemen, , tax office employees. 

While they have all encountered verbal abuse, they are experienced on the road and can handle  themselves in traffic.

Among them is Cycling Tasmania executive officer Collin Burns. 

Mr Burns spoke outside the Launceston Magistrates Court this week after 26-year-old Timothy Wayne

Yole was given a four-month suspended jail sentence for his role in the death of cyclist Lewis Hendey last December.

‘‘Driving a car is a weapon,"  Mr Burns says.  

"People are just not being responsible for their actions.

"My job is to promote the sport – but that’s a bit hard to do if people are scared of getting on the road.’’

We ride out of the Launceston CBD in a tight bunch.

Mr Burns says new riders don’t like being so close to others.

‘‘Especially if there’s a bit of wind, you find you can get blown across the lane a little bit,’’ he says.

‘‘But in a bunch you get treated like another car - you’re easier to see, and vehicles will generally steer clear. Singular or small groups is when you see people get hit.’’

7.50am: North on the West Tamar Highway

A LOT of tradies drive past as we head out of town.

Mr Burns says we’ll be among the work commuters on the way back. 

‘‘We try and structure our group so miss the worst of it,’’ Mr Burns says.

‘‘There’s no point riding in heavy traffic if we can avoid it.’’

He says groups generally ride two abreast – at most 1.5 metres between bikes.

When there are multiple traffic lanes, the group rides to the left of the left-hand lane, as close to the white line as possible.

Mr Burns says riding two abreast is major point of contention for motorists.

‘‘Cars come up and see us travelling in a big bunch. They think that if we’re not riding in two straight lines that’s a problem.

‘‘But  if we’re in a tight group, with riders slotted in numerous ways, we can still only be riding two wide - we’re not taking up more than two metres of road.’’

At Riverside, the left-hand ‘‘cycling lane’’ narrows at choke points in the highway and the group is forced more on to the road – something I had been annoyed at as a motorist.

‘‘The common motorist says to us: ‘Get in the bike lane! Get across!’ ’’ Mr Burns says.

‘‘It’s not a bike lane. It’s a verge. It’s got bins and roadkill and cars parked in it. It gets narrow depending on the area.’’

The surface on the verge is also pretty rough.

Even if you want to ride in it to avoid being on the road, it isn’t nice.

Cars move past between 50 and 70km/h, most of them moving into the far lane to accommodate us.

8am: Open road 

WE leave suburbia and head on to the open stretch of highway.

Cars are now going 100km/h.

‘‘This should be the safest road in Tasmania,’’ Mr Burns says.

 '‘It’s dual carriageway. It’s a straight road. There is a good verge - though can be a bit rough - and there should be very good visibility.’’

We ride past an abandoned car that is sitting in the left-hand verge.

Like the parked cars earlier, it pushes us further on to road.

But this time the passing cars are going much faster. 

The group yells out warning to each other as cars zoom past.

‘‘I don’t really worry about cars travelling 40 or 50 – it’s more the ones on the  highway coming flying up behind you,’’ Mr Burns says.

A few minutes up the road, a truck passes us.

The wind shakes my handlebars and I hold on a bit tighter.

‘‘That was probably a metre’s gap – 1.5 at most - between us and him,’’ Mr Burns says.

‘‘Can you imagine anything closer than that?’’

Another rider mutters: ‘‘It’s like swimming with sharks out here.’’

8.20am: Roundabouts and Legana turnaround

APPROACHING a roundabout near Legana means we merge into the middle of the road.

A few cars get pretty close as we maintain our speed through the roundabout.

‘‘See that – they’ve just gotta get through the roundabout," Mr Burns says. 

‘‘They can’t possibly slow down for three seconds for the bunch to go through. Are we all really that busy?’’

We turn and head back towards Launceston.

On the way back, we stop at the site where Lewis Hendey was hit.

‘‘You think you’re in control of your life, but you’re not,’’ Mr Burns says.

‘‘Cars can just clean you up. Bang. Gone. Just like Lewis. He had no idea what was coming.

‘‘He had all the right gear on, a very visible kit. He was riding in the right place. Good helmet, flashing lights.

‘‘He was the third person in three years to be hit from behind. I wonder every time I hear a vehicle coming up behind me now.

‘‘All those cars that drove past us this morning were doing nothing wrong. I’m sure no one was drunk or on drugs or anything.

‘‘That’s why I ride around town like everyone is trying to kill me. I ride as if I have to give way to everyone.’’

8.40am: Gridlock at Riverside

BACK at Riverside, the traffic is now slow and heavy.

It’s a 50km/h zone, and we’re crawling along in the middle of the left-hand lane. 

‘‘I don’t feel so selfish about taking the lane when there’s another one beside us, and the traffic is crawling anyway,’’ Mr Burns says.

‘‘We could speed past them on the outside – and if  you were a singular rider you probably would.

‘‘But motorists see that and get annoyed. They say ‘why can’t I do that?’

‘‘In a group you definitely don’t ride up the outside. That’s pretty rude.’’

Mr Burns says it is also common for cyclists in the left-turning lane go straight ahead, if it is safe.

‘‘It’s technically illegal, but it’s also courteous,’’ he says.

‘‘Cars whinge about it, because they see it as flaunting  the rules – ‘why do they get away with it?’

‘‘But otherwise we’d just be holding everyone up.’’ 

Mr Burns says it is bedlam on the highway at this time of morning. 

‘‘People are running late, trying to get kids to school,’’ he says.

‘‘You find a lot of motorists shouting out telling us to get over to the left, but you don’t want to go too far because people are opening car doors.’’

The road surface on the verge here is awful – you need a mountain bike in some parts.

Conclusion 

AS a motorist who is sometimes annoyed with cyclists, I can say it’s more intimidating than it looks to ride with traffic, even at a slow pace and with an experienced group.

You can ride as safe and as courteous as you like, doing all the right things, but you are still at the mercy of other vehicles.

You feel very small sitting in the middle of a lane of traffic on your own– especially when you’re aware of the opinions some people have about commuters on two wheels.

You hear the cars coming up behind you, but you’re never 100 per cent sure if they have seen you.

A vehicle that passes 2 metres away still feels too bloody close.

And when a new rider such as myself is more likely to make mistakes, I imagine the probability of a serious accident only rises.