A Rubber-Studded Path to Glory

It has come to my attention that the people of Middlesbrough are once again clutching their pearls—and occasionally their shins—over the cycle lane in the town centre.

The local sentiment seems to be that the installation of rubber dividers, plastic wands, and segregated tarmac is an affront to common decency. Shop owners weep for lost parking spaces; pedestrians complain about “trip hazards”; drivers moan that they have lost four inches of road width.

To all of them, I offer a heartfelt and sincere: Tough luck.

It is time to stop pandering to the lowest common denominator. The cycle lane is not merely infrastructure; it is a filter. It separates the forward-thinking, Lycra-clad visionaries from the slow, the motorised, and the clumsy.

The “Trip Hazard” Hysteria

Let us address the most frequent complaint: that people keep falling over the lane separators (the “Orcas” or “Armadillos,” as they are affectionately known in the trade).

Apparently, the average Middlesbrough pedestrian is unable to navigate a static rubber object bolted to the floor. We are told these lane dividers are “dangerous.”

I beg to differ. If you cannot spot a bright black-and-white hump on the ground, perhaps the issue isn’t the cycle lane; perhaps the issue is that you need an eye test, or possibly less time staring at your phone. If you trip over a stationary object, that is not a council liability; that is gravity delivering a performance review on your walking ability.

We should not be removing these dividers; we should be making them taller. Treat the high street like an obstacle course. It builds character.

Drivers: The Oppressed Majority

Then we have the motorists. Oh, the motorists. To hear them tell it, losing one lane on Linthorpe Road is akin to the fall of Rome.

“But where will I park to pop into the baker’s?” they cry.

You won’t. That is the point. You will park three miles away and you will walk, or better yet, you will buy a bicycle. The age of the internal combustion engine is over. The age of the Strava segment is here.

If sitting in a slightly longer queue on the way to the A66 raises your blood pressure, consider it motivation to get on a bike and improve your cardiovascular health. We are doing this for you.

The Grand Vision: The Ascent to Coulby Newham

But simply keeping the town centre lane is small thinking. We must be bold. We must be relentless. We must expand.

I propose The Coulby Climb.

Why stop at the Dorman Museum? We must extend the segregated cycle lane all the way up Marton Road, past the hospital, and deep into the heart of Coulby Newham.

Yes, I am aware that Marton Road is already a notorious bottleneck. Yes, I am aware that it is a steep hill. I do not care.

Imagine the majesty of a protected cycle superhighway cutting through the “Marton Crawl.” We shall take a full lane away from the cars. Let the traffic back up to Guisborough. Let the drivers sit in their air-conditioned cages and watch in envy as I breeze past them at 4mph, sweating profusely in high-vis gear.

The residents of Coulby Newham deserve the right to cycle to town in absolute safety, even if they currently have no desire to do so. We will build it, and they will ride. And if they don’t, we shall simply install more bollards until they surrender.

Conclusion

The cycle lane is a symbol of a sophisticated, European-style metropolis, regardless of whether anyone actually uses it. To remove it would be an admission of defeat. To expand it is an act of glorious defiance.

Keep the lane. Keep the wands. And to those who complain? On your bike.