Cities all over the world fall over each other in a bid to be named ‘Most Bicycle Friendly.’ The list changes from year to year, as mayors and city councils build cycling infrastructure, then tear it down again, then rebuild, in an endless loop that’s been turning slowly for a hundred years. Every once in a while, I find myself in a place that’s not vying for any list of bicycle-friendly destinations. It simply is. It’s in the culture. Guernsey is one of those places.
Guernsey is a 25 square mile island in the English channel not far from the coast of France. Home to 65,000 people, the island has a network of skinny roads and leafy lanes that amble up and down the hilly terrain.
When my wife Krista and I started riding our rental bikes on Guernsey, we immediately noticed something odd. Guernsey motorists don’t honk their horns. At all. I was beginning to think all the cars had their horns surgically removed until Krista pulled out in front of a Skoda clattering along at full speed and we finally heard a friendly beep.
And there’s another thing. Motorists won’t pass unless they can see several hundred meters of clear road in front of them. This often leads to a line of cars, sometimes numbering ten or fifteen, waiting their turn to pass a cyclist. When riding, we had to wave them past, assuring them the road ahead was clear, before they would accelerate hesitantly.
Instead of having to deal with impatient motorists, I found I was the one getting impatient, waiting for cars to pass. Crawling up a long hill out of the capital, Saint Peter Port, I had a train of twenty cars plodding along behind me like a funeral procession. I felt like I was inconveniencing half the island.
Of course, on an island as small as Guernsey, motorists don’t have much to get impatient about. No matter where they’re going, they’ll be there in a matter of minutes, and slowing down to admire the palm trees and stately stone homes is certainly not a bad way to spend your time. But I think the real reason can be found in vegetables.
You see, all over the island, there are wooden boxes at the roadside. These boxes are filled with vegetables of all kinds and left unattended. People stop, pick up some corn or beets, and leave their money in a small metal box.
The honour system works because, on a small island, people are accountable. If they were to cheat the system, chances are they’d eventually be found out. If they were to endanger the life of a cyclist, chances are they’d eventually be found out.
Accountability is something you can’t get in a city. It’s too easy for aggressive motorists – and delinquent cyclists – to simply disappear into a veil of anonymity. Population acts like a kind of camouflage: the more people that surround you, the easier it is to vanish. You don’t have to be accountable when you can make yourself invisible.
But on an island like Guernsey, there’s nowhere to go. You pay for your vegetables, even though there’s no one watching. You respect cyclists, even if there’s no one else around.
davidonabike 