What it is that compels perfect strangers to cast the mustard seed of their evangelicalism upon the infertile territory of my being I shall never understand. Nor in the meantime have I any intention to withstand the impropriety and trespass. I am strictly apostolic in that regard.  I accept that my determination to preserve my individualism and personal identity renders me close competition for those blackguards who insist upon remaining unvaccinated as though the recommendation were a violation of their entirety. Apart from that inconvenient and otherwise inapplicable likeness I persist to ride my bicycle without a helmet.

There are circumstances in which it is acceptable – indeed predictable – that safety precautions are afforded as needed alerts. I confine that expectation to prescribed venues such as classrooms or other notable resources of instruction. But not perfect strangers. As shocking as it may seem to those who routinely avow the disciplinary persuasion of popular limitation and social behaviour, not everyone does. Though I have never pictured myself to be radical or especially non-conformist, I admit to a palpable degree of bloodymindedness which no doubt leads to apparent recklessness on my part. In this instance – that is, within the sphere of my character – I have chosen to adopt what is seemingly a more dangerous alternative to the helmet; viz., no helmet.

Having unwittingly examined the utility of a helmet on numerous occasions – none of which by the way has succeeded to enable any recognizable degree of protection – I can say with some certitude that helmets are a pretence and a deceit. But before this confab descends to a scientific enquiry into the merits of seat belts, I hasten to emphasize that my objection is not to the usefulness or other profitability of the helmet; rather my sole objection is to the presumption of perfect strangers to invoke their enactment of Nose-in-the-Air to proclaim what they consider their management qualification vis-à-vis others. They have in my opinion no such legitimacy; and, their intrusion invites repercussion albeit incremental to what they consider purely narrative. Their chatter is the more unbearable given the fact that I do indeed own a helmet; and, more to the point, I have been riding a bicycle for almost seventy years without wearing one. The offensiveness of these intruders overtly denies the unqualified entitlement of old age. I am an undisputed curmudgeon, an unparalleled distinction I am reluctant to abandon in spite of the risk. And certainly not at the behest of a perfect stranger!

In an effort to soften the impoliteness of these actors, I have predominantly done little more than smile approvingly, preferring instead to confine the limits of our acquaintance to their health and the weather. Seldom do I return the initial volley; though today when confronted by a volunteer in the local festival – and while I was engaged in a conversation with another person – I instinctively responded with an identical invasion, “Where’s your helmet!” admittedly little more than, “Why don’t you, Smarty Pants!” The recoil did at least instantly distill the breadth of the stranger’s insinuation. She swiftly changed the course of the dialogue to report that she sees me daily cycling on Metcalfe Street where I presume she lives. This confirmation of  distant familiarity only heightened the already peculiar glow of her unwarranted connection.