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How do I tell a bikie gang to shut up?

19 Feb
I love my early morning walks in Centennial Park.  At 6:30am, first light is breaking, the black swans are eating breakfast and the only sound is the hum of the city waking from slumber.  But a couple of times a week, this picture of serenity is punctured by hordes of cyclists.  These lycra-clad devotees of two wheels descend on the Park in packs of 30 – 40.  These bikie gangs tear around the Park as if they’re on the Tour De France. And they yell at each other. Really, really loudly. Like ear splittingly loud.  My walk is my time to think – kind of like meditating. I lose myself in my thoughts. So when someone – out of the blue – yells very loudly at close proximity, I jump right out of skin.

It scares the hell out of me. To be frank, they’re riding so quick (ignoring the 30km/hr speed limit I might add) I’m not sure what they’re yelling. But usually it’s during an overtaking manoeuvre so I guess it’s something like ‘Coming up on the right’ or ‘Faster, faster’. Or maybe it’s more friendly – like ‘Nice bum Johnny. Love the new bike shorts’. The park is right on Oxford Street after all. Who knows? But I’ve got a news flash for them. We’re not in the French Alps. We’re in the eastern suburbs. On completely flat ground. There’s even a designated bike path. Chill out fellas. But the interruptions don’t stop there. After terrorising the ducks, cockatoos and walkers, the cyclists descend on the park café. It’s a sight for sore eyes. Still wearing their bike ‘spikes’ on their feet, they kind of waddle in – bum out, neck forward – and order up big time on the lattes. They’re kind of sweaty and covered in neck to knee lycra which is emblazoned with sponsor logos – it’s all very faux-pro (professional, that is). It’s the lycra that really gets me. So tight it shows every lump, bump and crevice. It’s hard to know where to look. But I have to say it’s not the most revealing outfit I’ve seen a man wearing in the Park. There’s another fella who wears just speedos, joggers and an outrageously dark tan. But he’s got the body to pull it off. Some of these cyclists are – how do I put it politely? Let’s just say, lycra is not their friend. But do they care? Not a bit. Funnily enough, there are very few women in these bikie gangs. Must be something to do with the lycra and the angry shouting that goes on. I have to end this by saying that I don’t hate cyclists. In our car-saturated-city, it’s a necessary transport option. But – I just want to say one thing to them. Shhhhhhh!
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