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Lime electric bicycles parked in orderly lines across the pavement in London
Green machines … Lime bikes in London. Photograph: Mike Kemp/In Pictures/Getty Images
Green machines … Lime bikes in London. Photograph: Mike Kemp/In Pictures/Getty Images

What I learned when I fell off a Lime bike

Zoe Williams

So many things could have been worse – apart from the things that could have been better

I noticed Lime bikes almost as soon as they arrived in London, in 2018, because of the teenagers. Let me explain: it’s possible to hack the rentable ebikes – and when I say “hack”, I mean “not pay for”. You just have to pedal as fast as you can and you’re golden. If you haven’t paid, though, they make a loud clicking noise, which some bystanders find annoying, but I perceive as the soundtrack of naughty teenagers living their best life. I live next to a school and shoals of hoodlums cycle past like a percussion orchestra.

This is where my problem originated, I think: that casual association between the Lime and the scofflaw, which became even more pronounced after my brother got into an altercation with a police officer who told him off for salmon-cycling (going the wrong way down a one-way street). He was so rude, he told me, that he was amazed he hadn’t been arrested. He put it down to a Lime high. Even when you pay for the bike, its heft and speed relative to a regular push bike (never mind relative to walking) gives you a highwayman’s bravado.

Still, I never had a go on one until this summer. I spent a couple of months sailing about, feeling like the master of the universe – and then I fell off, although a better word would be “flew”. So many things could have been worse: the oncoming traffic could have failed to stop; I could have been miles from anywhere, rather than at the end of my sister’s road; some nice young people could have walked on by, rather than stopping and helping me find my vape; my sister’s neighbour could have been something other than a GP and I would have had to go to A&E. But so many things could have been better – for instance, I could have been wearing a helmet. And it could have not happened at all, which would have been way better.

Anyway, it’s a fortnight on and my head has recovered. I no longer shudder whenever I walk past a Lime. But I have concluded, regretfully, that I was right the first time: they are a young hoodlum’s game, not an old hoodlum’s game.

Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist

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