One Monday morning last April, my car misbehaved (or rather, it didn’t behave at all). I found myself looking at an unofficial and unwanted car-free day, just when I needed to run an errand that would take me from Marsa to Żebbuġ. A short distance, but I didn’t particularly fancy walking along the mad main roads. Tobacco is my preferred source of toxic fumes, and I especially like to inhale when I’m not being run over.

Then, I went to Google Earth. There appeared to be some sort of lane that wound its way up from Ħandaq to just where I needed to go to in Żebbuġ. It turned out to be a 20-minute leisurely walk through fields aflame with poppies, give or take the occasional junk yard and hostile dog. My errand took a pleasant hour in all, and I got back mentally refreshed and with my pockets stuffed full of wild asparagus.

It brought back fond memories, too. When I lived in England as a student, the best means of transport I could afford was a clunky old bicycle. The road from where I lived to the library was a busy one, and heavily congested twice a day. No matter, because I found a circuitous route across the fields and a couple of streams. Rabbits, skylarks and the odd kingfisher became welcome companions on my daily commute.

I rather enjoy driving. While no petrolhead, I don’t share the dislike of cars that some seem to have. That doesn’t mean, however, that I don’t like walking or, when possible, cycling. You can’t pick asparagus while driving, but you can turn up the volume and cocoon yourself in your own private world.

I don’t expect readers to be interested in my personal likes and dislikes. The reason I mention them is that it’s worth remembering that the means of getting there are not mutually exclusive. One could do worse than cycle to the library, walk to the shops, and drive down to London.

These alternative routes are history’s gift to us. They were developed to connect places, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t rediscover their vocation

Which is why I think there’s a lot of good sense in the National Cycling Strategy published for public consultation by Transport Malta a few days ago. Refreshingly, it’s not a declaration of war on cars. Instead, what it does is propose ways in which people might be encouraged to cycle, or to cycle more often. It would have made sense to publish a twin National Walking Strategy, but let’s not be difficult.

One thing the strategy proposes that I especially like is what it calls a ‘safe cycling route network’. I quote: “This policy approach is different from the provision of the traditional cycle lanes, by using secondary roads and urban streets, as shared road spaces with enforceable reduced speed limits, and which will be promoted as safe cycling corridors.”

Now I can see why some – the Bicycle Advocacy Group, for example – might interpret this as a sign of defeat. They’d have a point, too, because I don’t think we should just give up on cycling lanes. There are many major roads where they make perfect sense, and where government ought to commit to providing them.

I still think that the strategy is not entirely misguided. My reading is that someone has done a spot of lateral thinking and come up with a good idea. There will be places where cars, bicycles and pedestrians will compete for road space. Those places needn’t be everywhere, however.

The strategy suggests that less competi­tive spots may be found in secondary roads and streets where cycling would be privileged. No harm there, but it’s also where my little experiment with Google Earth comes in.

Large parts of the unbuilt landscape are, in fact, criss-crossed and connected by narrow lanes. For most of our history, these lanes were used by people to walk or ride from village to village. In the 20th century, some were widened and surfaced over to form today’s roads, but many others simply fell into disuse, quite literally by the wayside.

Take Tal-Balal. It is hemmed in on both sides by major arterial roads that happen to be among the busiest in the country, and therefore also among the worst congestion nightmares.

Except Tal-Balal is still well-connected by lanes that follow the lines of field walls and farmhouses. It is, in principle, possible to walk along these lanes from, say, L-Iklin to Mater Dei, a journey that would take less than half an hour.

I use the conditional, because there are issues. Some of the country lanes at Tal-Balal become swamps at the slightest mention of rain. Others are the preserve of overly-territorial types who keep savage dogs specifically to keep people away. And so on.

Only all of this could easily be fixed, at very modest cost. (At any rate, much cheaper than flyovers and tunnels.) These alternative routes are history’s gift to us. They were developed to connect places, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t rediscover their vocation.

Speaking for myself, I intend to keep using my car. But I also find it a pity to think that my bicycle languishes unused for many years, and that my memories of walking to the shops are just that. In one sense or another, lanes might be the answer.

mafalzon@hotmail.com 

This is a Times of Malta print opinion piece

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