‘One hundred idiots make idiotic plans and carry them out. All but one justly fail. The hundredth idiot, whose plan succeeded through pure luck, is immediately convinced he is a genius’ – tale of Homomdan ship’s name, Iain M. Banks
I have no plans to get a helmet camera. The number of times I wish I had one is pifflingly tiny compared to effort and expense involved, and even the geekoramic awesomesauce of pretending I’m one of the Colonial Marines from Aliens doesn’t make up for that.
Maybe I’m not assertive enough(or equivalently: too lazy). As a rule if I’ve the option of using a car wanting past me as an excuse to pull in and pootle till they’re past, I’ll take it unless scheduling fail obliges me to take the strong primary. That cuts down the number of opportunities for terrible overtakes.
Maybe I’m just too gleekit to notice. This is highly probable.
A pretty chunkular factor is that I don’t ride in rush hour through busy streets very often. My morning commute can, if I hit Snooze around eleven times, resemble the sweatiest fold of a pair of wash-needing jeans, but usually I’m in before seven, so the roads look like car adverts.
Maybe I have found the one seam of cycle chic that means I’m treated as an equivalent human being by other road users.
To the relief of people unwilling or unable to grow a big ginger beard and wear a brickie’s vest, I suspect it’s just that I’m the hundredth idiot. If you look at the maths of how often headcam-worthy incidents appear, versus the number of times I ride in rush hour, there’s adequate room for me to be a fluke.
Not really in a hurry to be promoted to Idiot 101…