Just as each city has its own distinctive architecture, food, or even nightlife, so many also develop a distinctive cycling culture. This evolves over decades and is, of course, greatly shaped by infrastructure.

But other factors come into play, not least self-perpetuation, with cycling newcomers automatically mimicking the bike choices, clothes and road manners of those already out on their local streets.

It's little surprise that in some UK cities the dominant cycling habits can seem, to outsiders, both ultra defensive and, to an extent, a bit aggressive. Obliged to battle for space on crowded main roads, many riders don helmets and all sorts of fluorescent hi-visibility paraphernalia even for a relatively short commute. Rising speeds are often relatively fast, making road bikes and swift hybrids the norm. This in turn sees significant numbers wearing full Lycra cycling gear, the preserve of weekend enthusiasts in more bike-friendly European countries.

In the worst cases – and I'm particularly thinking here of my own cycling patch, London – this degenerates into a default approach which is defiantly aggressive, even macho. Speed is paramount, other road users mistrusted, traffic lights viewed as optional.

Even as a law-abiding and, I hope, courteous cyclist, I maintain a nagging sense of being more part of the problem than the solution. When I set off to work (see below) I usually do so on a stripped-down, lightweight machine, designed for speed. I ride quickly and possess more Lycra outfits than is strictly dignified for a man of my age.

Peter Walker's more usual commuting get-up. Photograph: Shelly Morris

That's why I was intrigued to be offered, on loan, a bike from the opposite end of the cycling spectrum. The Pilen Lyx is the flagship steed of a tiny Swedish company set up in 1998 to manufacture what it proudly calls "utility bicycles".

What this means, I found, is a bike both defiantly anachronistic and more or less indestructible. Made almost entirely from steel and unapologetically heavy – the oversized rear rack would be sufficiently robust to transport a pig to market – it's designed to last for decades rather than years. While there are modern touches, for example an eight-speed hub gear system and LED dynamo lights, with its powder-coated frame, leather Brooks saddle and sit-up-and-beg handlebars the Lyx could barely look more 1950s parked outside the Festival of Britain with a tweed jacket draped over the crossbar.

It is, of course, broadly similar in design to millions of bikes used around continental Europe – something to be ridden sedately, in normal clothes. It was thus the perfect machine for my brief, one-man campaign for a more civilised UK cycling culture.

A fortnight of use came with a couple of quibbles. I never got used to the rear back-pedal coaster brake – luckily this is optional – and while the heavyweight Lyx breezes along smoothly on the flat it is, for obvious reasons, allergic to steep hills.

But otherwise it was something of a revelation. Once over the habitual compulsion to keep up with the cycling traffic – there was an almost comically clear moment when I thought: "Hang on, this isn't a race." – I trundled along happily, making good progress yet never working up enough of a sweat to worry about being in my work clothes, even on my 10-mile route.

The paradox was, of course, that more often than not I caught up with the Lycra gimps at the next traffic lights. My extra journey time was far less than I'd usually spend showering and changing at work. After a few days of such elegant, almost louche, travel I had another sudden realisation: there is something almost pathetically absurd about those frantic urban speed merchants, legs pumping furiously and faces pinched into a grimace. And yes, I'm including me in this.

Now the Lyx has returned to There Cycling, a London bike shop specialising in similarly practical machines, am I a reformed character? Have I ditched the carbon fibre and figure-hugging ensembles?

No, not quite yet. I still enjoy the fact that a speedy commute, even in the absence of much other exercise, keeps me relatively fit. Plus, habits built up over many years are hard to ditch. I would, however, like to one day add a "European-style" bike to my collection. Perhaps not a Pilen – beautiful though it is, the Lyx is almost fetishistic in its retro styling and extreme sturdiness. Such craftsmanship also comes at a price – £795 for the model I used. But I'd be happy to hear other suggestions.