In the UK we tend to compare ourselves unfavourably with the rest of Europe when it comes to cycling and its acceptance in society. We look to the Netherlands, or to Scandinavia, even to France and Italy. In those countries there is cycling infrastructure, and a realisation that cycling there is effectively a way of life. The reasons may be many and various: people never stop cycling between being a child and becoming an adult; there isn’t the same kudos attached to owning the latest, greatest SUV; and the people are just generally more relaxed over there.

But recently I had cause to change my mind about the challenges facing cycling in the UK. And all that had to happen to make me question things and revel in what we do have here was to go on a trip to Georgia.

In a week working in the former Soviet republic I saw three bikes. Not just three cyclists, but three bikes. One was chained up and looking very much the worse for wear, the other two had riders on them, who seemingly had had enough of life and had decided to end it all in the car encrusted streets of Tbilisi.

In this little pocket of Europe, wedged between Russia and Turkey, the cyclist simply doesn’t come into the equation. This goes far beyond a lack of facilities for cyclists, an idea which would likely be met with a mixture of scorn and sheer confusion, reaching deep into the Georgian culture and mindset.

I was told on one journey through the streets from the centre of Tbilisi to the outskirts that Georgians like two things in life: food and cars. The latter is most certainly in evidence on the choked streets where the horn replaces the indicators and the term ‘rules of the road’ is lost in the exhaust haze. Throughout the day, and into the evening, rivers of cars flow down the streets, with some moving about between lanes and creating little eddies around junctions