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The linear time, we live in in Western culture can now be called “non-culture” without fear, dictates the rhythm of the narrowing of consciousness. When we get in the car, it narrows. That’s when we often live in a kind of neurotic state when we become dangerous to ourselves and others. Mobility in a car cocoon gives the driver a sense of security from the outside world, which he often even hates, if not that, at least he puts in distress. It is thus “safe” in the car, which triggers hidden, difficult-to-control intentions in it; But now you will see the Devil. And unfortunately, it often does. More common, of course, are milder forms of forgetting who we are and what we are allowed to do. Like this example. An excellent lady, tidy to the end, suitably scented, in a shamelessly prestigious car, is waiting in front of a red traffic light.  She quickly tidies up all the forgotten toilet, fixes the smeared make-up, wipes the lipstick pulled over the edge with his middle finger, removes the forgotten remnants of breakfast with her fingernail between her teeth, numbs it, and hangs in front of the rear-view mirror. The almost tantric delight at the green light is interrupted by the whole orchestra blowing from the cars behind her. A lady on a bike couldn’t do all this, much less on an electric one. It requires both hands and considerable concentration, and even more a kind of forgetfulness of life's difficulties. While driving for sure. This already means a kind of psychic reset, which counts quite a bit in these times. And last but not least, on the electric bike, we haven't actually noticed that the driver, like his "colleagues" in the car, would tell the road users how much he loves