IT'S rather flattering to be mistaken for Robert De Niro. The chap on the bicycle in Collins Street obviously confused me with a character in that Meet the Fockers movie. "You Focker!" he said when I opened the passenger-side window to hear what he was saying (at least, that's what I think he said - the city traffic noise can be quite deafening).

Bicycle Man looked very annoyed and that was understandable - he had accidentally slapped my collapsible driver-side wing mirror so it hinged backwards and he was probably feeling embarrassed. Anyhow, Bicycle Man said something about a bicycle lane and about me pulling over to drop off a passenger and I agreed that it certainly was silly the way the Collins Street bicycle lane just disappears as you approach Swanston Street and really, what were the traffic engineers thinking and what is a Bicycle Man to do and we enjoyed a good laugh - well, I did, anyhow, and pushed the mirror back the right way.

Then, through sheer chance a week later, I was crawling along the same stretch of Collins Street, just a little short of the same spot, when the light turned red at the pedestrian crossing. I stopped the car, but a Bicycle Man just pedalled gaily through. The pedestrians on the crossing had to wait for him to pass. If it had been a car you might have taken its registration number, but of course, Bicycle Men are completely anonymous. They don't have rego plates and you can't even get a good look at their faces.

Cop (wearily): What did this offender on a bike look like?

Self: Er, well, he was wearing a helmet, dark glasses, Lycra top and shorts, runners. Oh, and the bike had two wheels.

Cop: Hmm, right, that narrows it down.

Anthropologically, the interesting part is that most Bicycle Men are not bicycle men all the time: most of them drive cars too and become part of the Focker family. And Fockers often get out of their cars and become Pedestrian Men, the ones who dodge Bicycle Men on pedestrian crossings. But when a Focker or a Pedestrian Man dons Lycra and swings his leg over a Giant or some other form of spoked bi-wheel transportation he becomes Bicycle Man, and that seems to grant him an instant exemption from the road rules.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving down Racecourse Road past Flemington, where the road narrows past a railed tram stop. It was 8.28pm and dusk was falling. There was a Bicycle Man, no lights, casually pedalling in to that darkened corridor, confident in his belief all members of the Focker family have 20-20 peepers and that he was as safe as one of Peter Garrett's insulated houses. Not so for the petrol-powered Fockers. You try motoring about in the dark without lights and you will be pulled over, lectured, breath-tested and probably given a ticket in the policemen's lottery.

That's why it is very tempting to become a Bicycle Man yourself. You get to look all sleek and aerodynamic because the Lycra super-hero suit holds your gut and backside in - and in your mind's eye, you can be riding in a Walter Mitty version of the Tour de France, covered in advertising logos and holding pole position. The good part is, as a fantasy cycling champ, you can take your bike just about anywhere you like. Judging by what I have seen, a Bicycle Man can speed along footpaths, turn corners through red lights, dawdle along at 5 km/h in front of traffic in a 70 km/h zone, meander between lanes, turn without indication, travel at night without lights, and get away with it.

Cop: Description?

Self: Well, it could have been the same bloke from the pedestrian crossing. Helmet, dark glasses, Lycra top and shorts, two wheels.

Cop: We'll round up a couple of hundred thousand suspects for a line-up.

Source: http://www.theage.com.au/national/melbourne-life/a-vicious-cycle-20100228-pb7y.html