I’m not a "f***ing cyclist". I’m Elliot’s daddy, on a bike…

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Elliot’s daddy, on a bike, and she’s expecting me home around 6pm for bathtime.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Ruby’s daddy, on a bike

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Ben’s brother, on a bike.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Vanessa’s darling, on a bike.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m the guy in charge of creating a campaign on Facebook to help Auckland City Mission raise money for families this Christmas, and I’m riding to work on a bike.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Gabriel’s daddy, on a bike, and he’s expecting me home around 6pm for bathtime.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Scott’s mate, on a bike.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Rochelle’s workmate and friend and she’s expecting me on a call at 8:30 a.m.

I’m not a “f***ing cyclist”. I’m Liz’s little boy – all grown up, but still a skinned-knee five-year-old pedaling a yellow Star Flyer.

And you’re not a “motorist”. You are someone in a car. Someone I haven’t met yet, with your own universe of people who laugh when you’re around, and you rode a bike to school, and you’re trying to remember your shopping list, and you’re thinking about going for a run, and you need to check your mirror before you open your door, in case the guy who plays guitar in the office band is riding past you on a bike.

Say “hi”, next time. My name’s Stuart.

PS Look out for bikes on December 5th. Details to follow.

Originally posted on Greg’s blog (and modified slightly.)