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The urban cyclist still does it tough. PHOTO: ODT FILES

Waka Kotahi, still known to some as the NZ Transport Agency, states its $15million Road To Zero advertising campaign intends to convince Kiwis our only acceptable road toll is “zero”.

Bravo! But “zero” is crazy. It is im-poss-ible.

We must be realists. A Kiwi is 40% more likely to die on the road than an Australian. How can this terrible difference be addressed by ad campaigns from cuckoo land?

Or by tinkering with speed limits, and making travel times longer — as seems likely?

Hubert Huff.

Yes, zero does suggest a project run by Elf-an-Safety zealots.

But we should be fair. The agency’s immediate target is actually a 40% road toll reduction by 2030, and it has set out its approach to attempting this.

Road death reduction is a long hard slog, and historic rates suggest that while lowering speeds is popular with the nanny class, speed limit reductions would have a very minor impact.

In 1961, when the speed limit was only 50mph (80kmh) the road toll was 393. Sixty years later in 2021, with the limit at 100kmh, it is down to 320. Adjusted for population growth, the figures show that while we now travel at a higher speed, the death rate has dropped a massive 61%.

That’s a dodgy re-collation of facts? True, but they reinforce the bleeding obvious. It’s not the kmh number on the signpost which makes a big difference. The improvements come from better roads, safer cars, higher standards when licensing drivers, and alcohol testing.

Our problem drivers won’t be cured by prescribing the rest of us with lower speed zones. The worry is that tinkering with speed limits will be driven by the politics of “seeming to do something,” while failing to deliver on the larger cost needs.

Dear Uncle Norm,

The urban cyclist still does it tough. People on bikes cut pollution and traffic congestion, yet Dunedin still has too few bike lanes. Aggro motorists are a daily threat to our safety. (Even when I put on my orange Lycra outfit.)

New Zealand spends gazillions on cycle trails for rich, occasional tourists. Why not divert this cosmetic spending to making cycling the answer to our cities’ traffic congestion?

Annoyed Cyclist

These aren’t the worst of times for cyclists.

Bicycling’s golden age arrived in the 1890s, soon after the invention of spoked wheels and a revolving chain to connect pedal and wheel.

Cycling became the rage. Iggy Pop, the Duke of Meghan, and Taylor Swift would all have been bicyclists. The largest of the UK’s 250-odd cycling clubs, the "Cyclists’ Touring Club", had 60,449 members. Booming bike companies were stock market darlings and made 800,000 bikes a year.

Pedallers faced a 12mph speed limit, and the city street bicyclist had a testy relationship with the town’s main competing vehicle.

In the 1890s, 50,000 horses a day plied London’s streets, 11,000 of them tugging hansom cabs. The problem wasn’t that one horse polluted London’s air with .05kg of methane per day. The difficulty was that each Neddy’s daily manure dump was around 15kg.

This wasn’t only a problem for cyclists — the manure was a boon for flies and disease and was the reason gentlemen wore spats.

Matters came to a head with what history labelled "The Great Horse Manure Crisis of 1894". The newspapers were full of it. Examining the city’s fast growth, and its transport pollution, The Times of London made a memorable prediction:

"In 50 years every street in London will be buried under nine feet of manure."

Nine feet? Now that would give bicyclists cause for complaint. Plus — how would you remodel George St?

Dear Uncle Norm,

It seems you’ve decided this week’s topic is transport. Is it all problems — or is there anything good to say about it?

Hand Delivered.

Yes. In Otago we are lucky. We still have large pieces of uncrowded road which encourage that old fashioned pleasure called "motoring."

Otago has well built back roads which wind through gorgeous views and invite you into the joy of driving a car along interesting, challenging roads. This isn’t about illegally hitting 130kmh; it’s about the subtleties of driving hard or smooth, about entries and exits, about choosing your piece of the road.

No surprise then, that it’s a top destination for rallies.

But cars? We’ve all owned doozies. When poor, I had an XP Falcon whose chief quality was a good chance of winning Best Pig of Show. When poorer still, there was a stretcher pushed by a hospital porter called Mr Morris 1100. Then the Eunos whose issue was it was unsure of its gender.

Today I admit to a black SUV, and a sapphire blue Jaguar XK8, so beautiful I should garage it in a chastity belt. Still, none can compare to joy of the first — that blushing pink Simca bequeathed by my dad.

 - John Lapsley is an Arrowtown writer.