There was a loud screech of brakes. Katie Jackson recalls watching a cyclist, anxiously looking behind, speeding off along the canal. Below, on the towpath, lay her kitten.

Jackson’s pet died minutes after being struck by the cyclist on the Hertford Union Canal, Victoria Park, in east London in July 2015.

For some canal cyclists, including me, it was the final straw. Appalled by the latest tragedy, I abandoned the towpath as a commuter route. Four years on, the decision is yet to cause regret.

My new route was longer, a 25% increase in time and distance. It also involved navigating several congested thoroughfares and a particularly perilous crossroads. It was profoundly more dangerous, but felt liberating. The need to issue endless apologies to dogwalkers had disappeared. Instead I concentrated on my own survival.

Q&A What is the canal revolution series? Show Few things symbolise the way our cities have transformed more than canals. Around the world, cities have woken up to the power of their urban waterways: from Milan to Manchester, the former economic arteries of industry are being turned into corridors for walkers, boaters and wildlife. Cafes and restaurants are proliferating and canalside living is newly chic – and newly costly. As commercial interests muscle in on the last great undeveloped bit of Britain’s cities, Guardian Cities and the Observer wanted to take stock of a crucial moment in history, when we still have a choice: whether to turn canals into sanitised enclaves of wealth, or preserve them as a precious resource for all. Chris Michael, Cities editor

Over the previous months, racing along the narrow waterside path had felt increasingly incompatible with other users. Swerving past mothers with prams or cutting up small dogs trotting languidly by the water made me feel ashamed. My desire to reach the office on time was patently causing misery to others.

Many of the UK’s towpaths are narrow and cannot be widened, meaning it is impossible to separate pedestrians from cyclists. Photograph: Tolga Akmen/AFP/Getty Images

Take a canalside seat at rush hour and watch the chaos unfold. Guaranteed, you will witness a litany of near-misses. Amid the blur of rushing metal, wide-eyed pedestrians nervously sidestep their way to work. The soundtrack is one of shrill bells interspersed with the squeal of brakes.

Predictably, there are accidents. Anecdotal cases reported along Britain’s 2,000 miles of canal include descriptions of hit-and-run cyclists crashing into guide dogs and pensioners.

These waterways should be calm spaces where people seek solace

Canals, particularly in rush hour, have become the domain of bicycles, the trucks of the towpath. Some travel so manically they are called cyclopaths.

These waterways should be calm spaces where people seek solace. In our cities, their value is obvious as green spaces, linear escapes from the stresses of urban life.

Time-pressed commuters on bikes are destroying this precious resource. As cycling grows more popular (25 million Britons now own a bike) and cleaner forms of transport more attractive, the impact will escalate.

Away from the menace of reckless cyclists, the broader issue remains the paucity of credible cycling infrastructure on UK roads. There, cyclists suddenly become the most vulnerable of users.

Almost 18,500 cyclists were injured in road accidents in 2016, including 3,499 killed or seriously injured. By contrast of the 400 or so pedestrians who die in collisions each year, about 2.5 involve a bicycle.

That cyclists choose crowded, uneven paths beside open water in preference to superior roads is an indictment of the investment in the provision of safe cycling lanes.

But as canals become more crowded, so journey times will lengthen. Trips on roads, even with the interruption of traffic lights, are often quicker.

A tipping point has been reached, the volume of cyclists exceeding the capacity of paths built during the industrial revolution for horses to slowly tow boats laden with goods. The issue now requires political intervention, a recognition that using canals as key cycling commuter routes is not sustainable.

A cyclist on the Leeds-Liverpool canal towpath. Photograph: Don McPhee/The Guardian

Many of the UK’s towpaths are narrow and cannot be widened; separating cyclists from pedestrians is not possible. Proposals such as speed gates and painting 3D “sleeping policemen” on the towpath, infrastructure modifications borrowed from roads, are not long term solutions.

Nor is distributing leaflets enforcing cycling etiquette which, although well meaning, offers no evidence that it will influence mass behaviour. The Canal & River Trust’s messaging that cyclists should give way to pedestrians as the more vulnerable party is only selectively obeyed.

Prohibiting cycling on canals during peak times should be trialled and enforced with on-the-spot fines. The move would be easily policed, as the structure of canals means cyclists cannot avoid checkpoints. Fines should be invested directly into fundraising alternative, safe cycling routes on the road network.

Fundamentally, canals need to be reclaimed as places of contemplation – greenways that are quickly accessible to huge tracts of the UK’s urban population. Not long ago canals served a purpose for cyclists, a traffic-free route through cities still in thrall to the internal combustion engine. But the rise in numbers and demands of a cleaner city mean their purpose for cycling has been outgrown. Their value needs to be reappraised.



These ancient routes, a retreat from the frantic hubbub of the streets above, are too important to sacrifice.

The canal revolution series looks at what our changing waterways reveal about modern British cities. Follow Guardian Cities on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram and use the hashtag #canalrevolution to join the discussion, or sign up for our weekly newsletter