So, as a celebration of moving from a decade recognisable as youthful, to one closer to decrepitude, we have come to Copenhagen. To see what all the fuss is about. To bicycle in splendid isolated and separated safety. But, we have been here a few days now, and the magic that we saw now seems everyday. The amazement at the silent swish of the hordes sweeping by has faded. We look to our right as we get off the bus and step onto the cycle path, knowing the kind cycling souls have stopped anyway...
So, to get my perspective back, I checked up on the backlog in Google Reader. And there it all was; At War With The Motorist eloquently raging. Crap Waltham Forest just keeping on undimmed, Low Fidelity gently prodding with the rapier. And now I see it all again afresh. The chain driven, diamond-framed miracle before my eyes. It is truly stunning.
Oh, and in case the waxing lyrical has got a bit much, let me point out in no uncertain terms that the bloody segregated infrastructure and absolute commitment to the complete priority of non-motorised means of transport is the reason why.
Everybody cycles. The men are tall and handsome. The girls are beautiful. Coincidence? I think not.
I'm sorry I missed you. I left around 3 or 4 July. You know, not everyone fits the stereotype :) You obviously didn't see a short, red headed Australian on a green Brompton.
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Anyway, hope you found some inspiration. Those Bjarke Ingels jobs out in Orestad blew my mind, if you're still there with time to go look see.
Dr B, it is the curse of the foreigner not to match up to the stereotype of the local. I'm with you - I may be blonde(ish) like the Danes, but my Welsh genes make me pale of skin and red of face after the gentlest exercise. Knowing something of your secret talents in the sprint, I think I didn't see you as you were at the head of the peloton while I was at the back.
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