Fahrad Fahren or travelling by Bike, in Berlin is easy. Or that is what I believed when I first arrived.
Coming from the knotted congestion of London’s narrow streets, to the vast roads and cycle paths of Berlin couldn’t be more different; but having always cycled, I would say that central London is one of the safest cities to get around by bike; save for the odd Taxi door opening into your face, from my experience, cars hardly ever get any space to build up enough speed, to really hurt you. ( I am sure statistics contradict this personal observation)
Space in Berlin plays tricks on the mind; Because of the lack congestion you cover double the distance in the same amount of time a journey would normally take. This David Blaine type mystery only became clear to me just before Christmas when I was showing a friend a route map of my daily cycle; In the same time that I would have done a 10 to 12mile round trip from Kentish town to Hackney Wick, It was pointed, that I was actually cycling 18 to 20mile on a journey from Mitte, to Kreuzberg to Wedding, and then back?
On the very night this phenomenon was realised, I fell victim to one of the worst aspects of Berlin cycling; The cyclists!
Sanctimoniously, speeding dangerously past with no consideration for the pedestrians. They are the new car drivers; in fact, fat BMW’s recognise their kin, slowing down to usher through threatening packs of bikes. And these are no ordinary bikes; They are, the big- bugger- Amsterdam- Variety. The night I came into contact with one I spent the following hours in the krankenhaus being splinted up with a broken wrist.
I have never been too bothered about cycling in Winter; As long as there is no black ice and you wrap it well, it can be pretty exhilarating. However, these last 3 weeks of January have made me reassess this; The grit that’s chucked everywhere, to stop you slipping; becomes the bike-tyre equivalent, of cycling over broken glass. 3 flat tyres in 5 days is a depressing statistic; particularly the one that occurred in the middle of a snow covered Tier Garten; I found myself tugging the incapacitated two wheeler with a flop-wobbling tyre along the Strasse Des 17 Juni, from the Prussian victory column to the Brandenburg Gate. On this mammoth stretch of road I suddenly found myself in two David Lean films at once; The painfully slow progress along the Strasse, was the approaching Camel in the early desert scene of Lawrence of Arabia. But this was no desert; Dr Zhivago.
Finally to my, brush with Germanys, drink-peddling law. On Sunday evening I met a friend at 7pm in a Kottbusser Tor, bar. He had just got back from a month in Ethiopia and had many stories to tell. Our evening concluded around 1.30am, I would guess that I’d had around 7 Biers. Outside it was about minus 2 degrees. We quickly said our goodbyes and I began my cautious 20 minute cycle North. Having just crossed the River Spree, I halted at a red light. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned round to see 5 Polizei standing there; Immediately, a story came to mind of someone who had been stopped by the police on their bike after they had been drinking and had ended up losing their driving licence for a year.
Been Drinking have we sir?
Yes. There was absolutely no point in lying.
How many would you say?
Well, two maybe three . I did lie at this point
Ok we would like you to blow into this, Yeh? he moves the breathalyser towards my face
Oi Oi Oi I say, oh well this is it , I put my hands up. and laugh a little, because I know I’m done, and there is no way out. Their mood is quite cheery, perhaps because I am taking the whole thing on without hostility, They count me in and then to ten. But before blowing, I somehow decide that I will do it in style; I’m guilty! Why do a stuttering half arsed effort.- For their count of 10, I was an on song Artie Shaw, and I’m sure I detected respectful nods from a couple of them.
They hold the machine up and check the reading. There is a pause
OK your fine, Danke
I can’t understand, what is going on; I’m about to say, but I can’t be , I’ve had at least 7 Biers!
But they are not interested; they’re packing up and getting back into the van.
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