I transport myself about this technologically advanced, commodified city by bicycle, a primitive vehicle. Pedal power propels me through parks, sidewalks, streets and suburbs. My bicycle and I merge as one machine. We work alone, together to defend ourselves from roadrage and pompous pedestrians who are unwilling to share "their" footpath.

Allow me to state the obvious; there are footpaths for pedestrians and roads, streets, for cars. Together these structure maps of the city. Ideally car and pedestrian shall never meet. However, occasionally cars do ride up gutters onto sidewalks. Pedestrians often wander aimlessly across roads even though they have a nicely structured space especially for them. Here they may bring traffic to a standstill while they cross at their leisure.

Both pedestrians and vehicles have traffic lights especially designed with them in mind. These direct two separate bodies in harmony between each other without touching. They have their own space and time in which to move. This enables people to continue with their lives without ever directly needing to deal with each other.

The bicycle travels in the gutter where the tarmac is damaged with pot holes and leftovers. Nevertheless I must make the most of the little unofficially allocated strip that I have. Because of this my arteries are never clear, they are always blocked. Therefore I must make my own routes. On my bicycle I am the object between two bodies. I am neither car no pedestrian, yet I am always on the footpath and I am always on the road. There is no direct lane for me. On my bicycle I have no place in the city.

Behind the blasé business "man" in "her" brand new BMW I bob in and out on my BMX. Endless clouds of their pollution envelopes me, it blankets my face and muffies my throat. I am naked, unprotected by the shell of an automobile. I am in the city, with the footpaths and streets. I am close to everything around me. I can touch my roads.

Choking is a complimentary gift from automobiles to bicycles. It's to remind us that roads weren't built for bikes, they were made for engines.

There is no codified consistency in riding a push-bike. My rhythms alternate all the time. There is no systematic flow like car traffic or harmonious pedestrian pitter patter. I defy the consistency of the city, I am not ordered in the "whole" city. I am out of context: irregular, unsafe, unclean, a social nuisance.

Despite the constant verbal abuse, side swiping, car doors, the grit in my eyes and pollution down my throat, I really enjoy riding my bicycle in the city. I weave my way laughing through traffic jams, across one way lanes through people on zebra crossings, up onto the footpath and then back down on the other side. I need to manipulate my surrounding environment, invert road and traffic rules. I adopt these to suit me and the way I have to ride. The only way I can find my own path in the city and try to belong is to use its facilities for purposes they were not intended for. After all the city has no intention of accommodating cyclists.

Riding is not like walking. One can flaneur the city without ever having to worry about when the footpath is going to end. There is no fixed route, my direction changes all the time. On the roads I am surrounded by powerful movements I can't control and can seldom influence. I have to pay close attention to my environment. I must know the pattern of the traffic lights along main routes. The bicycle must be free,. ready to adopt to constant change. Those words echo in my ears "a hesitant cyclist is a dead cyclist".

I race to propel myself in front of the semi trailer so I can quickly jump off the road, however, its too late the truck is sucking me in and without realising it, pulls me along for another ride. I am trapped in a wind tunnel between the mammoth machine and parked cars. I grip tight to the aqua-blue handle grip of my trusty old bike, sit low, easy and heavy in my wonderful women's cross country saddle (excellent for urban terrain) and cruise. The wind along Anzac Parade sweeps across my body, my eyes water down my face. My teeth are clenched and grind with fearful delight. The truck rushes me forward at an overpowering speed. Fear, movement, speed in a big city mixed with the childhood memory of freely racing my push-bike in quiet suburban Canberra streets, pushes my aching bones along to an overwhelming adrenaline rush. The city streets are Wonderland with new rides every time, its not organised, its free.

Amongst the noise pollution of car horns and engines I slip through silent except for the faint purr of my bicycle. The rhythm of my wheels and chains are like the beating of my heart. It carries me along and lets me know that everything is working. The constant whistle of the wind in my ears silences the voices in my head. I concentrate on myself, talk to myself in my mind and body. I can feel my blood racing around me. I hear my breaths internally. Sometimes my heart tickles my throat and laughs at me when I try to over do things.

I am a singled out minority. No one takes any notice of me and my bicycle no matter how exposed I am. Unlike the car, I am not a body inside another body. I am naked, stripped, vulnerable like an insect without a shell. I stand alone amongst a crowd of strangers who do not receive the city the same way as I do on my bicycle. I constantly struggle to make eye contact with pedestrians and cars. My eyes plead with them to 'look out ... watch for cyclists'. Angry, I scream and shout at cars for nearly killing me. Pedestrians turn and stare and I simply shrink away embarrassed, I am not protected by my car. There is no barrier between me and others. People can hear every word you say. Passers by can smell your sweat, hear every breath, see every bead of perspiration. People can touch you.

Before leaving the place I'm at and heading off to a specific destination I systematically map out my route in my mind. I need to visually see where I am going. I need to plan my path because there are none provided. There is always more than one way to go and it seems the more you ride to a particular destination, more possibilities are formed. From my house to university there are two possible ways by public transport, three by car and five by bicycle. I constantly seek, safer, faster and smoother routes. I am a lazy rider and usually look for simple direct paths with as little traffic and terrain alteration as possible. I will ride around the hill as opposed to having to ride up it. The weather also effects the way I ride, the time of day in relation to road visibility and traffic congestion, too - Anzac Parade on a windy day is like riding on the spot no matter how hard you push yourself.

I do not ride through certain parks at night and I prefer to ride on the footpath. I may be slow but I have no reflectors or lights. If I do have a light then I might ride on the road depending on the quality of the tarmac, the suburb and my familiarity with it. Of course, at the moment I am avoiding all main roads because my bicycle has no back break. Some people would suggest not riding at all, but this is my mode of transport around the inner city. I don't have to answer to the cattle calls of public transport timetable. I feel I am too young for the responsibility of a polluted car. I choose to live in my childhood of suburban freedom, bicycles. I can defy parking meters by locking my bike up on any 'no standing' pole in the city. I am Racer X on speed, half an hour becomes ten minutes, because I combine and utilise the streets and the footpaths. I travel with cars and pedestrians. The traffic lights are always green for the bicycle.

My bicycle and I were never considered in the commodification of the city. I must map another city, a code for my bicycle. I cruise the streets looking for gaps to fill, spaces where I can be. I know every pot hole through which the city breaths. I tickle them with my tyres. The energy of the streets pass like a current through my frame sending tingles through my toes and dances through my body.

Racer X 1997.

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