One knows no rules and no consideration, the other sounds like a Dutchman in clogs, and for some it’s a show run. A small typology of cyclists on the streets of Munich.
The Combat Cyclist
The combat cyclist has one thing in particular: right. He sees the street as his private property, which everyone else is only allowed to use as a matter of mercy. That’s why no rules apply to him – he’s the Louis XIV of road traffic: “Le loi, c’est moi.” Red traffic lights are only non-binding suggestions, one-way streets are nothing but chicanes, drivers must be thoroughly unsettled by unpredictable driving manoeuvres. Overtake on the right? But I’d love to. Turn left immediately afterwards? Aside, subordinate. The combat cyclist mostly rides a slightly older mountain bike that looks the way it looks because he uses it every day. If necessary, he can also use it to climb curbs to spread fear and terror on the sidewalks. His ego doesn’t even stop at like-minded people: Other cyclists are usually just in the way, they are rung, scolded or whistled at. (Serious combat cyclists have long since armed themselves with whistles, because the normal bicycle bell hasn’t frightened anyone for a long time.) That’s how he pedals through the big city, always on 180, because he’s right. Why don’t the others see that?