I used to cycle around London. When I was in my 20s I biked from my flat in Shoreditch to the gallery I worked at in Victoria.
It was fast (I got it down to about 23 minutes door to door), exhilarating and fun, as I smugly wove between cars jammed bumper to bumper. Occasionally, it was also terrifying.
There are three events that stand out. One was when a double-decker bus tried to crush me against a metal railing. The second was when a van full of builders cut straight across my path, all laughing as I almost slammed into its flank. But it was a run-in with a long black limo that ended my days on a bike.
It was early evening and I was pelting along the backstreets of Fitzrovia, lit up with lights and reflective strips.
I heard a car race up behind me. It was going fast and almost as soon as the driver had passed me, the car started swinging into my lane, into the space where I was. It was a big car with blacked-out windows and as it kept coming, I realised I had nowhere to go. Obviously, a bicycle is no match for a car and I had the option of either running myself into the pavement, or going under his wheels. I chose the pavement.
As I clattered across the concrete, the car disappeared down the road without even slowing down.
Shaking, I picked myself up and went after him, catching him at the next set of traffic lights. I banged on the passenger window.
He had run me off the road, I explained. No reaction, so I tried again. “I hope where you are going is so important, it is worth killing me to get there.”
He just closed the window and drove away.
He has probably never given the incident another thought, but I am still shocked that someone could be so indifferent. I hope it haunts him. It certainly haunts me.
Years later, and I now live in the metropolis of Dubai, where outsourcing life's essentials is common practice. We have people who wash our cars and walk our dogs, and we have every restaurant and supermarket at the tip of our fingers. Out of milk? Get it delivered. Crave pancakes? Get them delivered.
There is no limit to what can be summoned by bike. Press a few buttons and it miraculously arrives. Yet we conveniently ignore that behind every order is a driver racing to beat an ever-shrinking deadline. Sometimes this driver is in a car but more often than not, he (and it's almost always a he) is on a motorbike.
Rather than marvel at this amazing network, we take it for granted, complaining when a driver gets lost or takes longer than 15 minutes.
Led by customer demand, companies promise faster and faster delivery times, even as the government tries to protect drivers by banning them from outside lanes.
I have never been a delivery driver but I have been on two wheels, at the mercy of the cars around me. I have encountered drivers who are obnoxious or filled with irrational fury at anyone on two wheels. And I have met drivers who simply don’t bother to notice anything smaller than a car. So I feel a certain empathy for these drivers who race through traffic to bring us waffles, toilet paper or a poke bowl.
I have a theory that anyone taking driving lessons should be forced to spend a week on a bicycle, to learn humility and understand safe overtaking distances. It would show the learner exactly what it is to feel exposed and vulnerable, especially in a country where many drivers are cocooned inside big, powerful cars. Delivery drivers are just as entitled as the rest of us to work in a safe environment, to go to work confident of making it home safely at the end of every shift.
We choose to forget that there is a very human cost to this 24-hour delivery system. Outside where I live, two bike drivers were killed at the end of last year. Coming home one night, I saw another crumpled on a road in Dubai Marina, his face covered by a jacket, the lights on his moped still on.
Of course, I know nothing of what happened, or who was driving dangerously but, having spent years cycling, I do know that regardless of who is at fault, the one on two wheels invariably pays.
So, next time you pick up the phone, scrolling for the delivery service that promises to get that bag of tomatoes to you faster than the competition, please ask yourself one thing. Is that meal so important, it is worth someone potentially dying for?
I don’t think so. We can all wait an extra 20 or even 30 minutes to ensure someone gets home safely. He has a family, too.
Instead, say thank you, give a tip and keep the fridge stocked with bottles of water to hand out, because depending on that day's traffic, he may literally have risked his life to get that delivery to you within an impossible time window.
One day it may be you or your loved ones on two wheels as a car passes too fast and too close, and then, I can guarantee you, nothing will feel as important as your safety.
During these unusual times, take the opportunity to be grateful and ensure you will never be haunted by your own indifference, because throughout the history of humanity, no one died waiting an extra few minutes for a delivery.
