The Haunter of the Dark

Yes, I know it's an H.P. Lovecraft story, but in this particular case, I'm writing about cyclists. Strange title, no? Well actually, it's not. You see, I have a tale of horror of my own to recount. It goes something like this.

Whilst I'm sitting here in the warm, drinking a nice cup of hot chocolate, I can recall when it was approximately 3.30pm - just the other day. Apart from it being a Wednesday, it was pretty average. Not that Wednesdays are unusual you understand. However, it was exceptionally dark indeed.

What does that tell you? That British weather has set in and in earnest. So what can we do? Well nothing beyond making sure your windscreen washers are ready for the rain, sleet et al, and ensure you wrap up rather warm for work. Anyway, back to the tale.

So, five PM came and we left for work, the Blackbird (my car) and I. We drove for a while until we were almost home. Then out of the darkness came the 'haunter'. A bloody cyclist wearing a black top and going unhurriedly down a dual carriageway. WHAT IN GODS' NAME IS GOING ON HERE?!?!

I was, well to put it lightly, unamused. My poor love, recently fitted with new tyres, had to weather the yanking of the wheel as a strove to not hit this idiot. I was torn from my musings of Descartes - and for what? To ensure I didn't mow down some buffoon on his cycle?

Now, I have nothing against bikes or indeed those who use them. However, those who misuse them by doing all manner of jiggery-pokery such as riding in the dark without lights on a poorly lit dual carriageway really should know better. Else they might end up deciding they'd like an extended hospital stay when some doddery old bloke fails to see them in their new Burberry.