The psychopaths you might run into on the cycle paths.

The big ball we call the Earth is slowly turning and with it, so is the weather. Soon, the nights will be drawing in. That might put off some riders, but for the committed, there is still cycling to be done. After all, the new season means new kit, and shiny new equipment. And, although the air is cooler, at least you won’t get quite so sweaty as you peddle. A less clogged social calendar also provides the chance for more weekend rides. In short: now is the perfect time to get back in the saddle. But should you venture forth on two wheels, who will you be sharing the roads and cycle paths with? Here are five types of cyclist you may well recognise.

This guy isn’t so much a cyclist as an overzealous pedestrian unleashed on two wheels thanks to the local cycle rental scheme. The traffic lights are advisory – hell, even the direction of traffic is up for debate. His pay-by-the-minute ride is unwieldy at the best of times, let alone when steered with one hand, the other being used to take selfies in the path of oncoming buses while he smokes a cigarette. When he’s not cruising the pavements, he will pop up in front of other road users without warning – no mean feat on a vehicle with all the mobility of a drunken narwhal in a Tesco Express. Handily, the noise-cancelling headphones block out the car horns and exasperated expletives.

To see his Strava feed, you’d assume he had taken the train to work (although not Southern – he’s faster than that). This leg-powered speed demon has already lapped all the other cyclists and has taken to racing motorbikes on his commute instead – he gives them a head start, of course. High on rhubarb-and-custard-flavoured sports gels and 17 espressos, and dressed in cutting-edge Lycra, he’s out to best the few segments within 100km that he’s not already top of the leaderboard for. He arrives home before he even left, somehow defying the laws of physics along the way.

The man the phrase “all the gear, no idea” was invented for. Despite last riding one when he failed his Cycling Proficiency Test aged 11, he’s figured that owning a carbon-fibre aero road bike worth more than a family car is the best way to get into the sport. The weight he’s saved on his chassis, he of course more than makes up for with all the lumpy bits poking out of his Lycra jersey and bib shorts. He takes to hill climbs with all the grace of a wheezy elephant going the wrong way on a travelator, and on the descent, will most likely fall in a bush. Despite his shortcomings, he will race anyone who dares overtake him – even the elderly lady on the sit-up Dutch-style bike with a small dog in its wicker basket.

That shouty guy in high-vis with a GoPro pointed in every direction and a copy of the Highway Code – rules 59 to 82 highlighted – to throw at wayward motorists. He has a loudspeaker to announce his presence – determined to shout about any form of minor infraction on the road. The vigilante also has a laser beam that sets off an alert should someone drive within a 1.5 metre radius of him, with Bluetooth connection to the switchboard at the local police station. And a stick – with another camera on the end of it – to poke road users who still haven’t got the message. Despite the hours of rolling footage, he somehow fails to see the taxi cab parked across the cycle superhighway…

People may scoff, but having both hands free when cycling has its advantages – you can update your business plan for your moustache beeswax origin location app while supping a blue algae latte on the move and still be more authentic than the kids on their hoverboards. It also means you’re poised ready to dig your pinhole camera out of a patch-flap pocket on the front of your tweed jacket should you come across a discarded armchair worthy of documentation. Your other bike is a matte-black fixie fitted with multicoloured Spokey Dokeys and a sticker that reads “This machine kills fascists” plastered on the top bar – but no brakes. Your other-other bike is a penny farthing.