It must be karmic retribution for all the times I’ve gotten off without paying fines for cycling without lights. Last night I was fined 20 euros for cycling in the cycle lane.

That’s not a typo.

There’s construction work going on near my house, for about two blocks on both sides of a major street. One of the two cycle lanes is blocked off with portable barriers at each end. It’s a bit odd they chose that side to blockade, because off the side of that lane is a three metre fence, and on the other side of the that fence is where the construction is going on. It’s even odder, given that the only construction I’ve seen actually in progress is on the other side of the road entirely.

So that’s the cycle lane I was using, on my way home at seven in the evening. Whether they’ve blockaded the correct side of the street or not is kind of a moot point by then, since the construction crew have knocked off and there’s not a soul in sight, except for the cyclists doing like I’m doing, taking the short way home.

And except for the five police officers and one motorcycle traffic warden, waiting at the dead end.

I honestly thought there was something going on, an accident or at least a traffic diversion. But no, all they wanted from me was ID. So they could fine me 20 euro. (While the dude was painstakingly filling out the form —not the sharpest knife in the drawer— I saw one of his compatriots letting two tourists go their merry way, after they protested that they didn’t understand what the signs meant. I fumed silently and refrained from asking them how they thought they should enterpret a crossed-out bicycle, a detour arrow, and a barrier across the lane.)

After I accepted my fine I asked the guy what the deal was. “Well,” he said, “you’re not allowed to cycle here,” and pointed at the signs. I said I understood that, but I wondered why not. “They’re working on the road here,” he replied.

I looked at the road, conspicuously devoid of workers — indeed, entirely empty now that some kind soul had gone back to the open end of the block and closed the two metre gap in the middle of the barriers. I looked back at the officer, with that dreamlike feeling that the person you’re talking too is seeing an entirely different reality to the one you’re inhabiting. “They’re working on the road?” I asked, and checked again to be sure: still lots of road, still nobody working. “Well,” he said, “you’re not allowed to cycle here,” and he pointed again at the signs.

I took my fine and went home.

(If this sounds a little bitter, well, it is. Due to some unexpected costs —which I’ll blog about when they’re ancient enough history that I can laugh at them, instead of weeping— I’ve spent the last week eating potatoes even more than I usually do. Today is payday, but to usher that in by paying the same amount in pointless petty fines that I spent all week on food, well, it’s left me in a bit of a bad mood.)