My Scary Road Rage Incident

Tom Hodgkinson was cycling along minding his own business when suddenly…

Mostly, my cycle rides around London town are cheery and hassle-free. I take it easy, I don’t jump the lights, I let others go first and I smile at people. But make the tiniest error and the residents of London are likely to leap on you with no mercy. They will shout at you and call you a “terrible blockhead”.

Except they don’t use those exact words. They use a word that begins with “f” and ends in “ing” and follow it up with a word that begins with “c and ends in “t”.

Over the last few days, I’ve been called a “terrible blockhead” twice.

And I’ve been kicked.

The first time, I stopped my bike outside Sainsbury’s on Shepherd’s Bush Green and was about to lock it to a bike rack. As I did so, a man got out of a car onto the pavement and said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I looked at him and guessed that he must have gently collided with my bike. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…” I spluttered. I looked at him with mounting terror. His face was contorted with rage. He moved closer to me, stared at me and said, “I didn’t realise, I didn’t realise, you TERRIBLE BLOCKHEAD!” and then kicked my bicycle.

“All right, all right,” I said, and backed off. Like cowardly Withnail in Bruce Robinson’s brilliant film, I wanted to declare: “I have a heart condition. If you hit me, it’s murder.”

My assailant stalked slowly to the cashpoint outside the supermarket, scowling as he did so. I cycled away. I was quite taken aback.

A few days later it happened again. I approached a junction. There was a stationary taxi on it. As I cycled in front of it, it started slowly moving, and as it went past I heard the driver shout at me, “You terrible blockhead!” Though again, he used different words, one beginning with “f” and the other with “c”.

I cycled after him, pounded the roof of his taxi and said, “No, you’re the terrible blockhead, you blockhead!” And I crushed an egg on the roof of his taxi.

Well, I didn’t do that, but I did fantasise about it afterwards. I nursed my rage.

But the thing is, you shouldn’t get into fights, because you won’t win. My first assailant was clearly a hardened thug and I did the right thing to back off. (I had another worry though: you know how people say, “if you meet assholes all day, then you’re the asshole”? So I was thinking, maybe I’m the asshole?)

I told this story to my friend Handy Hugh. Handy Hugh has long hair but his hippyish exterior conceals a man who likes to stand up for his rights in quite a physical manner. He told me of the time he was nearly knocked off his bike by a van. He took down the registration number of the vehicle and became quite obsessed. He cycled round the streets of Shepherd’s Bush for weeks, trying to find it so he could exact his revenge by letting down the tires or similar. (He never found it.)

“But Hugh,” I argued in the manner of a Taoist sage, “with road rage, there are no winners. Just two losers.”

It’s enough to make you want to retire to an Epicurean retreat, far from the madding, violent and sweary crowd. But I tried that, and even in the Epicurean retreat, you might called a terrible blockhead.

So the only proper reaction, again, is Stoicism. Socrates was a victim of philosophical road rage on the streets of Athens. And this is how he dealt with it, according to his early biographer, Diogenes Laertius:

“Owing to his vehemence in argument, men set upon him with their fists or tore his hair out; and that for the most part he was despised and laughed at, yet bore all this ill-usage patiently. So much so that, when he had been kicked, and some one expressed surprise at his taking it so quietly, Socrates rejoined, ‘Should I have taken the law of a donkey, supposing that he had kicked me?’”

In other words, do not lower yourself to the level of the kicker. Ignore abuse.

Live well (and tell me your tales of road rage, or pavement rage).

SELECTED COMMENTS

These comments were mailed to us after an earlier version of this piece was sent out as a newsletter. We like to publish a selection and reserve the right to edit them for clarity. Feel free to drop us a line with your thoughts.

Sir: I’m happy that you backed off and maintained a Stoic frame of mind during your unfortunate events. A couple years ago I witnessed a road rage incident outside my house where a big thug looking guy got out of his SUV to assault an old man in a Mini. The old man pulled out a gun and shot the thug! There has been a crucifix with flowers at the spot where the thug died for two years now. Best to be safe.
Tyron

Sir I was cycling down a cycle street here in Munich. I had the right of way as do all cyclists in the Fahrradstrassse. Some guy started honking his horn behind me and I violated the principles of stoicism and let my hand fly up to display the universal digit of disdain. As he passed me, he simply said: “Thanks for the advice.”
Kirk Rogers

Sir: Sorry you have had to endure these assaults. The world seems to be increasingly filled with terrible blockheads and I do wonder if they were always this blockheaded, or have they become more so due to recent events? I blame the Government (recently past and present). And Brexit. These two things seem to be responsible for a whole range of fuckwittery in our society. Or should that be fuckwittage? I’m not sure.
KC

Sir: Sorry to hear about those unpleasant episodes, Tom, but congratulations on turning them into a wise reflection. Levels of stress are exceptionally high currently. I suspect a lot of it has to do with the slow realisation of being “had” through the mishandling of Covid.
Neville

Sir: I feel for you. I have done many driving courses over the years. I have driven vans for the Royal Mail and on a tour of Europe with a band. I have even driven hairdressers around Manhattan. Short story. One defensive driver instructor told me, just assume that everyone is a terrible driver. Maybe that goes for cyclists too? Especially if they don’t have a bell. That’s the walker in me talking. This is the way!
Anthony Murphy

Sir: That’s the thing about bicycling, one is a little more vulnerable than inside a car. Here in America, the outcomes are often fatal, as everyone carries a gun. Be safe.
Andrew Kortz

Sir: Sorry to hear about the road rage incident. I’m reminded of this fabulous Max Wall monologue (and one of my party pieces):
Peter Ayres

Sir: I am sorry to say that it isn’t just London. I was at a wedding in Tarrytown, New York this past weekend. Tarrytown is an idyllic enclave on the banks of the Hudson, favoured by 19c authors, Hudson School painters and scions of the gilded age. Its most famous area is Sleepy Hollow, but any resemblance to peace and quiet ends there. I was siting at a sidewalk table waiting for my girlfriend to join me for lunch. She arrived flustered and upset, because she could only find a 20 minute loading spot. I told her to sit down and order and we would sort it out. Then, the spot right in front of our table became available. She dashed off to get her car, I paid the meter and stood in the spot to hold it for a few minutes while she brought her car up the street. Then, a big SUV pulled up next to the spot and hovered, as if he wanted to park. His window was down and I politely said, ”Sorry, this spot isn’t available.” “You, f……ing blockhead” – to use your euphemism. “You can’t f….ing do that.” “I’ve paid for the space”, I said calmly and firmly, “My girlfriend is just pulling her car around. We are eating right there,” I pointed to the table” “and I’ve already paid for the space.” At which point HE STARTED TO BACK INTO ME (a 65 year old, silver haired lady holding a space for a friend)! It was so fast, I didn’t have time to move, and banged my forearms on the back of his car. It was obvious I wasn’t moving and it was obvious that if he kept going he would have run into me. “I suggest you leave” I said pointing to the road. He took off. Score one for the old lady. My girlfriend pulled into the spot and we sat down for lunch. The table next to us asked if I would like them to make a statement to the police, given the fact that trying to back over someone knowingly is assault with a deadly weapon. I said that we should just leave it, but thanked them. Of course it was the foremost topic of conversation and just as I said, that “I stood in my truth” and wouldn’t be “bullied” by someone who was obviously out of line, the jerk showed up at our table, repeating his blockhead mantra. I said, “I paid for the spot” and turned to cut him off. He walked away. At this point the conversation turned to, “jerks like that have guns in their glove compartments”…..and I realised that perhaps I had been cavalier standing my ground. Twenty minutes later, he returned again, squatting down, all fifteen stone of him, and extended his hand. “Hi, My name is Chris. ”I shook his hand and said, “My name is Suzanne. ”He then said, “This isn’t sitting well with me. How are you doing?” “Do you really want to know?” I replied,” Your behaviour has ruined my lunch, ruined my day and probably my weekend. Civility matters.” Then I really wanted to tell him that his backing into me was assault with a deadly weapon, and that I have several witnesses who offered to give a statement, but I caught myself and instead said, “ I don’t live in your country and your behaviour today reminds me exactly why I don’t want to.” Silence. Score two for the old lady. Then he responded, ”You are a beautiful woman.” Just gross. Adding insult to injury…..he’s probably the kind of guy that abuses his wife and then “makes it all better” with flattery and smarm. I just laughed and stared him down. He walked off. Score three. I might have “won” the battle, but egads… I’m still upset days later. The problem is that everyone, everywhere is snapping and in the US some folks get killed for parking in the wrong place, knocking on the wrong door or even driving up the wrong driveway. I live in South Devon where, in my experience, kindness and civility prevail. Every time one gets in the car, one has to do a civility dance, to negotiate the narrow lanes. “I’ll pull over” “No. I can back up”. The game of After You, My Dear Alphonse ensues. No one calls me an “f….ing blockhead.” Civility matters, but civility is a choice. Why can’t we practice it?
Suzanne Darley, PhD

Sir: I’m saddened, but not surprised, to read this. Britain has become feral. I can’t stand it any more and have now taken the nationality of my great grandfather John Henry Eagen and declare myself to be Irish. The politeness, warmth, good fellowship and civility of the Irish is without limit. I only wish my grandmother, Agnes Mary Eagen, had been born in Ireland instead of Lancashire. I would then have been entitled to an Irish passport and could have maintained my European citizenship stolen from me by that odious liar Johnson and his chums. Best wishes and cead mile failte
Dr Bob Drake

Sir: I’m sorry you’re met with aggression while cycling. Cycling in England is impossible, especially London. Richmond Park is fine, but on the public roads? It’s terrible! In Holland I used to cycle everywhere, my whole life, it’s totally different.
Mascha

Sir: I’m sorry to hear you have been a victim of road rage Tom. I have a friend who despite his somewhat small stature will not take this stuff without a fight. He was out on his bike once and a car deliberately cut him up, that really annoyed him and probably because he is a former racing cyclist he caught up with the guy at the traffic lights. He tapped on the window and he received a similar vocal statement to that you received. He then saw that the ignition keys were visible so he turned off the ignition and threw the keys to the other side of the road, cycled off to silence. Obviously I don’t recommend you do anything similar as my friend as presumably you, unlike him, did not graduate from the university of life or spend your teenage years on a South London council estate.
Alan

Sir: It’s arsehole, not asshole, unless you’re now posing as an American. Our version is so much pithier, don’t you think? Keep up the good work and don’t let the arseholes get you down.
Carl Osman

Sir: I live in Nottingham now but during my 30 years as a cyclist in London I had many altercations with drivers; some won, some not. Best win was as a student cycling to Egham station on my way to a New Order gig at Imperial College in the 80s. Rounding an island without lights (yes, I know) when I was at Royal Holloway College, I was hit side-on by a Rover. Cut and bruised I staggered up to find the driver standing over me. He asked me to meet him at his golf club (remember, this is stock-broker belt) where he’d buy me a drink and refund me for the bent wheel, which he did. In cash. But my message to anyone slapping the roof of a car that’s just cut you up is to make sure you can get away. More recently while cycling in Ealing a VW Golf drove straight at me. I had to lean into another car to not get hit but, seeing what was happening, I held out my hand to slap his (it’s never going to be a ‘her’ is it) roof in displeasure. I carried on my way but he did a 10-point turn and chased me down, shouting abuse. As he closed in, I pulled into the middle of the road so he couldn’t overtake. Thankfully he didn’t try to mow me down. At the bottom of the road I knew there was a cul-de-sac with access to a tow path, which I took and was away. Of course, he may have just wanted to apologise but I didn’t want to take the risk.
Happy cycling!
Andrew
PS As a side note, I do worry that this week’s stabbings of our two Nottingham students was an escalation of an argument rather than being completely out of the blue, so I do agree with your premise that we shouldn’t get into fights.