I was at the critical mass of July last year, all the way from South of the river to Stratford. Therefore, I responded to the call made by Green and Black Cross when they asked for witnesses. Continue reading
There is big one-way system in Tottenham Hale, one of those with various lanes that make drivers believe that it is ok to speed like mad. It is served with a network of traffic lights; the kind where you need to press four or five buttons and wait for the corresponding green lights, taking up to twenty minutes to walk a few yards. Continue reading
As announced, a group bike ride took place on Sunday 29th July with two objectives: to protest the closure of the towpath next to the Olympics and to highlight how dangerous the alternative route proposed by LOGOC is.
The event started off with a picnic at midday, which the rain delayed.
For the fourth year after the death of Marie Vesco, her family and friends visited the site on the A23 where she was killed, to put flowers and a picture of her at the site, and to remember her. They also had the chance to inform a few cyclists about the cycle path that runs parallel to the road. The cyclists were riding along the very spot where Marie got killed. They had followed the signs trying to reach the cycle path, but said signs only led them back North.
This is the spot where it happened. A23. Junction with A2300. The access slip road. 4th June 2008. We’ll return there today.
You come out of the night club. You feel the cold of the night, but you know your body will get warm again after a few minutes of pedalling. You get on your bike and it takes you away from clubland, away from the cars vomiting their music and into the stillness of suburbia.
The road feels peaceful because it is night time, it is silent all around there is no traffic and no one has thrown an empty bottle of Vodka at you in the past three or four months. Biking feels safe, fast, quiet. Silence between the only two beings that matter right now: you and your bike.
#34 phoned me to tell me a story of a lost contact lens and the need for me to go to his house to pick up a replacement. When I arrived again at the camp, he was eagerly waiting for me at the top of the gate. Many people had climbed there to witness the stops and searches taking place right outside and to make the newcomers a bit more welcome.
The next three days were similar in structure to one another, although the mood in ourselves, and around us, changed gradually until it was completely different on the Sunday than it had been the first day.
The day routine started with breakfast and a neighbourhood meeting almost at the same time. Then the camp would re-organise itself in working teams until lunch, and then whatever had been left unfinished in the morning, would continue to be done in the afternoon.
Food for some thousand people had to arrive on foot from the nearest roundabout, about half a mile away, because vehicles were no longer allowed down the local road that led to the camp.