LATELY, I've been feeling like an unwilling soldier in a war of attrition.

It's as though I'm on the frontline, ducking and weaving, fighting for survival. You see, I'm a cyclist in a world dominated by four-wheeled beasts.

If the streets of York were the Serengeti, bike-riders would be nimble, elegant gazelles. Cars would be big game: they roar, occasionally honk, and sometimes appear from nowhere and cause trouble.

Only today, I had two close shaves involving motorised monsters. The first happened as I pulled out to turn right. A people carrier, whose driver was clearly reluctant to slow down, continued to overtake me perilously closely, despite oncoming traffic.

Then, when I was on a roundabout, a vehicle pulled out in front of me. We both juddered to a halt with a couple of feet to spare. I know which one of us would have ended up worse off had we collided.

A city chock-a-block with cars and huge buses that sway, swerve and speed along narrow streets is a frightful place in which to be on a pedal cycle.

Despite being named as a "city of cycling" and our city fathers lauding their achievements in introducing paths in certain areas, York has a lot to do to make its roads truly comfortable to ride on.

Of course, ardent petrolheads will no doubt complain that it is cyclists who make the roads a dangerous place. These two-wheeled terrorists jump red lights, weave in and out of traffic, ride on pavements, don't have lights and generally impede the progress of the road's rightful owners. But this is, by and large, bunkum.

There are rogue cyclists, but they are hugely outnumbered by decent ones. They, in turn, are overwhelmed by cars, many of which are handled rather badly.

Animosity between peddlers and drivers seems to run deep, as recent exchanges on The Press's letters page showed.

Driving seems to stir the passions like few other issues, just like it can cause normally mild-mannered folk to erupt in raging volcanoes of aggression behind the wheel.

The Jekyll and Hyde transformation motorists undergo is amazing. I used sometimes to feel a simmering resentment of other road users when I had a car, which was part of the reason I got shot of it. I didn't know who I was when I drove.

Somehow, being cut up by another vehicle on the road is much worse than a pedestrian impeding your progress on a footpath. Then there are the road hogs, slow drivers, tailgaters, suicidal pedestrians, and salesmen in flash motors speeding in the motorway's fast lane. And don't get me started on those pesky cyclists Psychologists tell us road rage can be explained partly by the way cars insulate us from the outside world, and the social effects of our actions. This must be truer than ever with today's massive vehicles, fitted with air-conditioning and super soundproofing. My friend used to drive a Citroen 2CV and somehow - perhaps it was the whine of the engine, or the way you felt every piece of grit through the suspension - you simply felt more aware of what was going on through the windscreen.

But another factor must be plain frustration at the inconsiderate behaviour we daily encounter on the roads.

Driving truly is a horrible experience. I'll have no truck with it. However, I've now learned cyclists aren't even safe from one another.

Last week, I was chased, yes chased, by a middle-aged man. It was late and, as I was overtaking said cyclist (who had no lights, I might add), he suddenly veered into my path, nearly wiping me out. He was texting someone on his mobile phone. So I rang my bell. Then he rang his, delivering a sarcastic riposte. Politely, I suggested the old chap look where he was going. He took umbrage, declared: "Right, I'm after you now" and started peddling furiously towards me. Luckily, my superior athleticism - no doubt helped by the 40 year age gap - saw me glide out of sight.

I'd imagined there might have been some camaraderie between us, a fraternal union against our common foe: the car. But there was none of it. It truly is a jungle out there.