Dirty Tunnel

Over the years, I have cycled nearly a hundred thousand kilometres on London’s roads: on bike paths, along canals, through parks, under the Thames, slaloming around stationary buses, weaving past potholes, crunching over glass in the gutter, arguing with delivery van drivers, waving towards Downing Street, breaking records on Strava, and keeping a watchful eye out for patrolling bobbies. There is one road I have avoided all these years: the Rotherhithe Tunnel. Until this week. This adventure had to happen eventually.

My esteemed colleague from De Stijve Bovenlip had the good idea to meet at The Grapes, a late 16th-century pub on the north bank of the Thames in Limehouse. I had been there once before after an interview with former Foreign Secretary David Owen. We sat at his kitchen table where the Social Democratic Party had been founded in the early eighties. Owen was the leader of The Gang of Four. This progressive party was formed in reaction to the socialist course Labour had adopted under Michael Foot.

‘He likes to pontificate, and animatedly,’ I noted during the hours-long interview, ‘even while making the coffee, which transformed the kitchen counter into a brown pool. Only delivery drivers interrupt his guest lecture. They all turn out to be for the actor Ian McKellen, his neighbour. ‘He is often away, so I keep his mail. Next to his home, which overlooks the Thames, is his regular pub, The Grapes.’ Our conversation took place ten years ago, shortly before the referendum in which he voted for Brexit.

But I’m digressing. To get to the famous Grape Pub, I had three options: through the Greenwich Foot Tunnel (fastest), over Tower Bridge (most scenic), and the Rotherhithe option. This 1,482-meter-long tunnel was, according to a sign at the entrance, opened in 1908 by Prince George, the future King George V. Originally, the tunnel, designed by Sir Maurice Fitzmaurice, was built for horse transport. The narrow lanes and sharp bends bear witness to the latter; these were intended to prevent horses from bolting.

Every day, 30,000 cars drive through it, with a maximum speed of 32 km per hour. Trucks are not allowed. For cyclists, there are strips of about a meter and a half on both sides, right along the blackened walls. Passing is virtually impossible, but that is not necessary because there are hardly any cyclists to overtake. I only saw a few bicycle couriers, the lowest-paid Londoners. In the area know as the Scandinavians’ district and even before I drove into the darkness of Rotherhithe, the exhaust fumes nearly overcame me.

It soon became clear to me that I’d chosen the dirtiest option. But the journey’s end, that was beautiful.