As a cyclist in the UK, it often feels as though there’s a deep divide between road users—cyclists on one side, motorists on the other. This apparent “culture war” is frequently discussed in the media and on social platforms. Recently, The Times published an article by a columnist who, incredibly, suggested that bike theft could sometimes be justified. But in reality, this conflict is largely a creation of sensationalist headlines. The true issue isn’t cyclists versus drivers—it’s about the difference between good and bad road users, regardless of whether they’re on a bike or behind the wheel.
As cyclists, we’re often conditioned to be wary of motorists, especially when navigating narrow roads and busy traffic. This wariness can sometimes spiral into frustration and, occasionally, anger. But a recent encounter with a motorist made me question whether this adversarial relationship is inevitable or whether there’s room for understanding between the two groups.
The incident occurred a couple of weekends ago, during a group ride outside of Bristol. We were tackling the notorious Hinton climb, a challenging stretch just over a kilometre long, with steep ramps that peak at 16%. The lane is narrow and sunken, making it impossible for cars to overtake cyclists safely. When you’re riding up such a climb, you’re essentially at the mercy of the drivers behind you, and there’s nothing you can do but continue pedaling until the road widens.
While we were struggling up the hill, a car started tailgating us, revving its engine impatiently and trying—and failing—to overtake. The situation was nerve-wracking; we couldn’t move over, and the fear of a close pass or an aggressive maneuver loomed large. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably just a few minutes, the lead car managed to pass, followed by another. But the third vehicle—a van—didn’t just pass us; it honked its horn as it did, which felt like an act of aggression after the tense few minutes we’d just experienced.
Usually, such moments would pass without much thought. After all, we’ve all been there—frustrated drivers and tense cyclists. But this time, my friend couldn’t let it go and shouted a few choice words as the van drove past. To our surprise, the van stopped in front of us, and the male passenger got out.
In those moments, it’s easy to give in to anger. But instead of retaliating, I decided to confront the situation head-on. As I caught my breath from the climb, I explained to the man how vulnerable we cyclists often feel on the road. The uncertainty of being so close to heavy traffic, the fear of a misjudged pass or a careless honk—it all contributes to a deep sense of anxiety.
To my surprise, the man seemed genuinely unaware of how his actions had affected us. He didn’t understand why his wife had honked, and he seemed open to hearing my perspective. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in my voice, or maybe my words resonated, but instead of escalating the situation, we had a calm conversation. The man even offered to give me a push start before they drove off, waving and honking in a much friendlier manner.
This unexpected encounter left me with a valuable takeaway: there’s no us versus them. Many motorists simply don’t understand the anxiety and vulnerability that cyclists experience on the road. Rather than responding with anger, we might be better off approaching these moments with empathy and patience. When a driver reacts to something as simple as cycling two abreast or holding a primary position, instead of meeting them with frustration, perhaps it’s time to meet them with kindness. After all, we’re all sharing the same roads, and understanding each other’s struggles might just lead to a more harmonious coexistence.
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