Freddie Mercury wrote an ode to the bicycle, which had more to do with his quest for hedonism than a reflection of pent up penchant for pedal power.
At a time when we are rather consumed by the passion for cycling as a healthy pastime, it is now opportune that we summon life from beyond the grave to provide us the power of pedal prescience.
Personal foibles notwithstanding, we could do with some sagacious foresight from the celebrated super crooner Freddie Mercury; born to Bomi and Jer Bulsara of Zanzibar. After all, we are faced with fatal fallout from the uninhibited ‘free-wheeling’ tendencies of our very own latter-day thrill-seekers.
What they shared in common was wanderlust to cruise free, relying purely on the motive power of gravity. All well and good, only if this penchant to express freedom and unfettered action, does not compromise safety or endanger others.
We are referring to our homegrown daredevils who don’t sit, but hang on for dear life on pint-sized, stripped-down two wheel mini-bicycles, variously described as ‘mosquito bikes’, or more commonly, ‘basikal lajak’. Such lightweight machines are now classified as micro-mobility vehicles under the Road Transport Act.
Riders lie face down, belly resting on the skeleton frame, almost scraping tarmac. Both feet are kept horizontally together pointing backwards – ostensibly for aerodynamics – while both hands struggle to make steering adjustments on the tiny handlebars.
The juvenile riders invariably gather in a pack to indulge in this gravity challenge – feeding off each other’s collective bravery through gang camaraderie. They become emboldened to follow the herd in throwing caution to the wind.
Without brakes, they pose a menace to other road users when losing control of the flimsy contraption. Collisions are inevitable, and no doubt, many carry scars and broken bones to show for all their dangerous exertions.
The full horror of the danger is now playing out before the courts as a lone woman driver is appealing against her conviction for causing the death of eight ‘basikal lajak’ cyclists in the wee hours of the morning in Johor Bahru five years ago.
The spotlight has moved to the Appeals Court where the fate of Sam Ke Ting, the young woman driver who is Chinese, is being represented by her lawyer, who is a Malay.
They are fighting to reverse the guilty verdict handed down by the High Court on the charge of reckless driving. The eight lives lost were Malay boys aged between 14 and 16. I make no bones about pointing out race, because like it or not, reality sucks.
Interestingly, social media reaction is not one-sidedly race-biased, as Sam has stout defenders, who themselves, are Malays.
Kids will be kids they say, and parents appear to no longer hold sway over where they play.
I don’t plan to dwell on the issue of parental supervision and responsibility over the actions of children, since it has been debated to death. Opinions are entrenched, one way or the other.
Poverty and inner-city misery are some ministry’s responsibility – so our plus-sized Cabinet needs to have an honest audit of their culpability. But, it will be a cold day in hell before enough Parliamentarians paused from self-serving politics, and got down to basics.
And allow me to digress – news from across the Causeway is that the tiny red dot has identified a super-qualified individual to succeed the even more superiorly-qualified predecessor as the republic’s PM-designate – should the ruling party win the next general election.
Drivers, too, have a duty of care to drive without endangering fellow motorists, pedestrians, flora, fauna, lamp posts, roundabout bollards, and traffic lights.
On closer scrutiny, one may draw parallels between ‘basikal lajak’ as a sporting pursuit, along the same principles as tobogganing, snowboarding, or even skiing. It is just as dangerous as skateboarding or riding one of those foldable electric scooters, which some road users consider a menace.
Where these pastimes originate in the developed West, its promoters and adherents go the distance. They are able to turn seemingly esoteric and playful pastimes into competitive pursuits that come complete with helmets, and elbow, and knee pads.
Private initiatives drive the creation of new sports from esoteric activity, complete with rules and regulations, as well as suitable gear and strict safety. They do not need meddlesome figures in authority or politics to hijack the limelight for self-aggrandisement and promotion.
On the other hand, ‘basikal lajak’ riders indulge in their sports in the very attire they jump out of beds from.
Living as some of them do, in crowded two-bedroom low-cost flats, they slip on their Tat Sing flip flops, fly out of the front door at any time of the day, and are ready to cause havoc. No padding for exposed limbs, no headgear, no leather jackets to cushion impact – no thought for protection for the body, nor more seriously, against head impact.
You have no doubt seen so many old videos that have resurfaced reliving moments when the ‘basikal lajak’ “athletes” careen uncontrollably before they crash unceremoniously into some stationary obstacles or parked cars.
Bravado comes from convoy camaraderie as they invariably always gather and ride in a pack. With wild abandon and infectious energy, caution is thrown to the wind as they slide inexorably down undulating road terrain for forward motion.
Gravity inevitably takes its toll when road humps or scattered obstacles cause loss of control, resulting in a tumble, a spill, or worse, a crash.
On that fateful morning, they had that unexpected encounter with Sam, resulting in the fatal tragedy.
While we should allow the law to take its course, let us reflect on lessons already debated widely, and not compound the misery on all parties affected.
I am not being flippant, but perhaps, there is nothing to lose by staying indoors with Freddie for a karaoke session belting out: “I want to ride my bicycle”.
That way, the roads will be much safer.
This is the personal opinion of the writer and does not necessarily represent the views of Twentytwo13.
