As I was putting together this month's issue, tidying up articles on the fun of cycling or getting other people to cycle on their own, as I received words on the responsibility of road users, news came in of the death of another cyclist on the road.

This hit home more than usual as it happened right in the middle of one of my normal commute routes, about an hour after I pass through. This has happened once before with a route I take, about ten years ago, on a road I didn't ride again until earlier this year.

The same feelings of nausea and unease welled up. The news pictures showed nothing but spoke volumes, with incident tents flanking railings that I knew only too well, drawing an immediate conclusion since the incident involved a heavy goods vehicle. However, at the time of writing the exact details are not known and I'm not about to jump on any bandwagon wishing to crucfy either driver or cylist (and there will be plenty in both camps).

All I really can do is extend some heartfelt and real sympathy to those left behind.

And to the cylist, whoever and wherever you may be, rest in peace.

- - -

I passed by the spot of the incident this morning. The intact railings decorated with flowers offering a macabre poignancy; the sign declaring a fatal accident took place, with stick on numbers for the generic wording providing the time and date, devoid of emotion.

A car parked in the ASL as I draw up, people walking about, the road 'clean'. It felt slightly unreal to think that less than 24 hours before someone had died here. I crossed the street and stopped for a moment, thinking about the cyclist and how quickly normality returns.

I thought about leaving something, but decided against. I wouldn't usually entertain the notion, but this seems so close to me. Even more so when at 35 years of age he was only three years my senior. I rode on in sombre mood, unable to get him out of my mind.

Later in the ride I shouted at two cyclists who popped through a red light, one after the other, as soon as the green man showed. People don't care about cyclists because that's the perception they have of us, and this thought tangled itself in my head with the lack of care anyone seemed to have for the fact that someone had died the day before. The normality of the scene bothered me.

I feel heavy and sick. I still took the bike this morning without a moment's hesitation, but I rode differently, more circumspectly.

Today is a day I hate being a cyclist.